Haunted
by s . p . m u s e . p a t r o l
Summary: Isabelle is being followed. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire? Isabelle/Raphael, AU
1. Fragile Line

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing._

**_Summary:_**_ Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?_

**Set post _City of Glass_**

**A/N:**_ This fic is a follow on to my Isabelle/Raphael one-shot Distraction, so if you want to read that please do. Thanks to Taylor Jade and Tbaby13 for convincing me to write this. Aaaand just a warning that this probably won't be as dark as the summary makes it out to be... oh well! Hope you like iiiit! _:D

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**Haunted**

"_You and I walk a fragile line,_

_I have known it all this time,_

_But I never thought I'd live to see it break..."_

- Haunted by Taylor Swift -

**Chapter 1 | Fragile Line**

Isabelle is greeted that morning by a blinding light peeking through her drawn curtains and a throbbing pain in her head. She groans, sitting up in bed, clutching a slender hand to her forehead.

She can barely remember anything that had happened last night and the realisation makes her uneasy. _I am never drinking again._

Getting up, she pads barefoot to the adjoining bathroom, trying in vain to ignore the ringing in her ears.

Isabelle locks the bathroom door behind her – knowing Jace will just barge right in other wise – the _click_ing sound of metal a lot louder than it should be. She breathes a tortured sigh – she's never had a hangover _this_ bad.

When Isabelle gets to the bathroom and gazes at her sleepy reflection in the mirror she cringes in disgust. Her skin is pale, with dark circles under the eyes, those of which are bloodshot with an unhealthy shine. Her dark hair is wild; the ends so dry that Isabelle hops in the shower without a second thought.

An hour later, when she is showered and changed, her hair is straightened and she has applied enough make up to hide the break out on her forehead, Isabelle is satisfied. Her stomach grumbles in protest and she leaves her room, heading towards the kitchen.

She is greeted by her brothers when she gets there. Jace smiles his mouth full of cereal and Isabelle looks at him, her expression one of exaggerated revulsion; Alec is on the phone, a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

"Who's he talking to?" Isabelle mouths to Jace, even though she is already sure of the answer.

Jace rolls his eyes, mouth still full, clutching a hand to his heart. "Magnus," he whispers dreamily and they watch as Alec turns to glare at them, laughing at his reaction.

She is on her second bowl of cereal – hangover cure – when she decides to text Simon, asking him if me wants to hang out later. There is a niggling feeling at the back of her mind, a feeling which is telling her to talk to Simon – so she does.

Moments later he texts back, and Isabelle sighs in relief – _why am I relieved?_ – when she reads his reply.

_Sure. I'm out this morning _(with Maia no doubt) _but is 7pm ok? Want me 2 pick u up?_

_No,_ a voice tells her, _you need to go to his house._

She listens to the voice, albeit a little strange that she feels the need to go to Simon's house – a place she's only been to once before – and does as it says willing.

7'_s g8,_ she types, checking her watch. 11:15. A long wait it seems.

_How about I meet you at your house?_

Isabelle bites her lip as she waits for his reply, ignoring the voice in her head which is asking her why she is so anxious.

Her phone beeps and she snatches it up from the counter top.

_Sounds gr8, c u l8r._

Isabelle grins from ear to ear.

. . .

Raphael sighs as he waits, impatiently, on Simon's doorstep. If he doesn't answer soon he is going to break in, courtesy be damned. He knows Simon has seen him. He'd poked his head out of a second story window almost ten minutes ago to see who had rung the doorbell.

_Coward_, Raphael thinks. He never had liked Simon very much.

Rubbing his face tiredly, Raphael raps sharply on the wooden door; still no answer.

He hadn't slept last night. Thoughts of the Lightwood girl had plagued his dreams; he remembers their meeting with a feeling akin to longing.

_We parted too soon_, he thinks. They had still been dancing in the middle of the floor when that Clary girl had found them, throwing a suspicious glance at Raphael before dragging Isabelle away, towards the exit.

_I hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye,_ he thinks resentfully.

Raphael is so engrossed in his thoughts that he barely registers the scuffle behind the closed door, and he blinks in surprise when it flies open.

"Raphael!" Simon greets him with faux enthusiasm and if he wasn't a vampire, Raphael is sure his cheeks would have been flushed, "did you ring? I- I didn't hear you-"

"Of course you heard me," Raphael cuts in, in his deep monotone, "you're a vampire."

"Well . . . yeah, yes-" Simon stammers before Raphael pushes his way past him impatiently. Simon follows him into the front room, "Is there something you needed?"

Raphael turns to face him, expression one of pure boredom – his tone is blunt, "Yes. I don't know if you happened to see me last night, I was looking for you-"

"Were you?"

"-I needed to check how you were doing. We sires are obliged to do that sort of thing," he finishes, a hint of bitterness lacing his tone.

Simon is staring at him, eyes wide, as if waiting for him to go on. Raphael raises his eyebrows impatiently, confirmation that he is done.

"Oh, okay," Simon says and Raphael rolls his eyes in annoyance.

Silence ensues and Raphael, never one to help an awkward situation, stares at Simon unfathomably, smirking when he squirms under his gaze.

"So . . ." Simon begins, dragging out the word, "are you gonna leave now?"

Raphael rolls his eyes again – he does a lot of that in Simon's presence – before reaching into his coat pocket.

"No," he says, "I came to bring you this," pulling a bag of red liquid from the inside of his coat, he hands it to Simon, "you're looking a bit peaky."

Simon takes the blood bag, his throat tightening as he looks down at it, "Thank you," he says tightly.

"You should refrigerate that unless you want it to get warm," and when Simon continues to stare at him stupidly, "Now!"

"Oh, okay," Simon agrees before hurrying, at vampire speed, up to his room, leaving poor Raphael to revel in his misfortune.

. . .

The _click, click_ of her boots echoes off the pavement as she turns onto Simon's street. It is dark and deserted, save for herself, and the cool winter air makes her teeth chatter – she pulls her thick coat around herself tighter, adjusting the blue beanie covering her head.

When she gets to Simon's she opens the unlocked door and walks straight through – they are good enough friends now that she doesn't feel it obligatory to knock first – and calls to him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Simon, it's Isabelle," she announces. No answer.

With an impatient sigh Isabelle makes her way to the front room. She will wait for him there.

It isn't until she is already in the living room, dumping her coat and hat on the empty couch that she realises she isn't alone. And, noticing the lean figure standing across the room, she stumbles back a step, a breathless gasp escaping her lips.

"Sorry if I startled you," they speak. The voice is smooth, masculine, with a slight undertone to it of an accent she recognises.

The room is dark, the figure partially covered in shadow, but as they step forward and Isabelle takes in the dark, curly hair, olive complexion and sharp, aristocratic features, she immediately recognises who the voice belongs to.

"Raphael?" she acknowledges, tone almost questioning.

"Hello, Isabelle."

. . .

When Raphael sees her he can't quite believe his eyes.

_What are the odds?_ he asks himself, that she would be here at the exact same moment as him? That they would cross paths again so soon?

But then he thinks that this _is_ Simon's house, and they are friends and maybe it isn't _that_ big of a coincidence; he just wants it to be.

"Raphael?" she asks breathlessly, and he notices the look in her eyes, the questions, as if there is something more she wants to ask, she just can't remember what it is.

Raphael steps towards her.

"Hello, Isabelle," he acknowledges, making his voice sound low and seductive – it doesn't take that much effort; he is a vampire after all – even though he knows he shouldn't. He knows it is wrong to try and seduce the girl, but there is just something about her - something which calls to him. And that calling outweighs any moral high ground his thoughts might have taken – the ones which are telling him to stop.

"Erm," Isabelle continues awkwardly, "is Simon here?" she asks, her voice quivering slightly. She's not sure why, but something about Raphael is making her uneasy – she wishes she could remember why that is.

Raphael opens his mouth, intending to reply, but at that moment Simon bounds down the stairs and into the front room, a huge grin on his face. Raphael hadn't heard him approach – he closes his mouth, disappointed.

"Hey," Simon greets Isabelle. She beams at him, somewhat relieved. Something about this situation is just _wrong_.

"Sorry about that," Simon continues, "I was just . . ." he casts a furtive glance at Raphael, "taking care of something."

Isabelle looks from Simon, to Raphael suspiciously – she notes how the latter is staring at her still – but says nothing on the matter.

"Okay . . ." she says before trailing off, suddenly breathless.

They slip into awkward silence for a moment after that, Isabelle keeps her head down, staring intently at the floor, but she still sees the way Simon is looking at Raphael expectantly.

_He_ is the first to speak.

"Well, I'll take my leave now," he addresses Simon, but Isabelle doesn't fail to notice the way his eyes never leave her form.

"Sure," Simon says, and though he tries to mask the eagerness in his tone Isabelle still hears it.

Raphael ignores him, and with a final, "Goodbye, Isabelle," – the way her name rolls off of his tongue makes her shiver, in what she isn't sure – before he leaves the room, his long coat billowing behind him as he goes.

Isabelle turns to Simon, a questioning look on her face which Simon chooses to overlook, and when he grins sheepishly ("Let's go") she doesn't ask questions.

. . .

Eventually she remembers what happened that night in _Pandemonium_ – the thought of how _close_ they'd been brings an embarrassed, blush to her cheeks – and so, when she sees him three more times that week she knows it isn't a coincidence. Despite how flattered she feels the thought is unsettling – he is a _vampire_.

She doesn't want to believe it but, deep down, Isabelle knows it is the truth. He is following her.

The next time it happens, she is picking Alec up from Magnus' house in her new car – the advantages of having parents who would rather throw money at you than spend time with you – and when she sees him across the street, leaning against the wall of an abandoned _Chinese Takeaway_, she knows it is no coincidence. But she chooses to ignore him and when she sees Alec exit Magnus' flat and hop in the passenger seat she smiles like nothing is wrong and drives away without a backwards glance. But she still feels like he is watching her.

The second time is less suspicious. Isabelle's mother, Maryse, is doing business for the Clave – investigating the mysterious disappearance of a vampire and Shadowhunter couple – and Isabelle happens to be lounging in her office, reading her favourite book on constellations, when her mother summons him.

Raphael's all too real looking holographic image appears and though she tries to ignore him Isabelle can _feel_ his eyes on her; more than once does she look up to find him staring at her.

Afterwards Maryse asks her what all _that_ was about ("Why was he looking at you so much?") and Isabelle answers with a joking, "Maybe it's just my incredible good looks" – something she'd be sure to say in any _normal_ circumstances. And though she hates lying to her, Isabelle is satisfied when her mother laughs at her joke; she breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

But, she muses, how can she tell her mother what's going on when she doesn't even know herself?

The last time Isabelle sees him that week is a night she'd rather forget.

There has been a reported sighting of demons in Brooklyn and her, Jace and Alec set out to 'fix' the problem. Simon offers to help, but Jace, being Jace, doesn't like the idea and Isabelle doesn't want Simon getting hurt – he's just new to this after all.

When they get there, there are five of them – ravenor demons – a lot more than they'd anticipated. So, while Jace and Alec take on two each – a fact she is none too happy about – Isabelle is left to tackle a particularly vicious one who chases her down a back alley for a full five minutes before knocking her to the ground.

Isabelle turns, tired from the exertion, intending to raise her whip, but the demon is too fast. Its claw collides with her side and she falls to the cold, hard ground. The demon's claw is sharp, slicing through her Shadowhunter gear and layers of skin. Isabelle lies helplessly on the ground, blood seeping from the wound; she can already feel the poison working its way through her body but she fights against the pain and the darkness threatening to consume her.

Raising her head, vision already blurring, Isabelle faces the demon. She chokes out a weak gasp when she sees it coming toward her, claws raised and teeth clenched. And then, in the blink of an eye, it is gone, knocked to the ground by a force so strong the collision echoes off of the walls of the alley way.

The ravenor demon cries out in pain and, if possible, the sound makes Isabelle even more afraid – what could cause it to scream like that?

Abruptly, the demons cries are cut off and though Isabelle knows she should be relieved she isn't, she's _terrified_.

There is a lingering silence before the footsteps begin, louder and louder as they approach her, and if she wasn't so scared Isabelle might have realised that the footsteps were human. But she _is_ scared and she clenches her eyes shut, biting into her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

Isabelle Lightwood is not one to get scared so easily – and if she could see herself now she would flinch – but she is wounded and the ravenor demons venom is making her feel weak and if that _thing_, whatever it is, is strong enough to take down a demon _imagine_ what it could do to her. She whimpers as she feels it hovering over her, its warm breath tickles her neck.

"Isabelle," it whispers and Isabelle's eyes pop open in recognition.

She is able to catch a brief glimpse of light brown hair, tan skin and a clearly _human_ face through warped vision before the pain becomes too much. She closes her eyes tightly, slipping further into darkness.

_End Chapter_

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_**A/N: DUN DUN DUN! (my attempt at making that lame ending sound more dramatic)**_

_**And I just wanted to say that I LOVE Simon and sorry if I was a bit harsh on him, but I get the feeling that Raphael doesn't like him very much, haha.**_

_**Anyway, I hope you liked! Have a good day (or rest of day I guess) :D**_


	2. Hysteria

**Disclaimer**: _I own nothing, expect maybe the plot. The Mortal Instruments belongs to Cassandra Clare and the song __**Hysteria**__ is by Muse._

_**Summary:**__Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?_

**A/N:** Thanks to_ Taylor Jade, Tbaby13 _and _Light and Night_ for the reviews.

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**Haunted**

"_. . . I want it now, I want it now,_

_Give me your heart and your soul . . ."_

- Hysteria by Muse –

**Chapter 2 | Hysteria**

She dreams.

An angel is standing before her and whispering her name – _Isabelle, Isabelle,_ – but then the angels face falls away, its wings fading from white to black and it's all Isabelle can do not to scream as the faceless monster approaches her.

She jerks awake, even though she shouldn't. She is tired, so tired and all she wants to do is sleep.

"Isabelle, Isabelle," a voice is whispering, but she pays them no mind. She can feel the hard ground beneath her, hear the buzz of the distance, Brooklyn traffic, there is a slight sting in her arm but she cannot open her eyes; they are too heavy. So it comes as a surprise to her when something warm and wet touches her lips.

At first she flinches away, but then something gently caresses her cheek, keeping her in place and she hears them again.

"No, you have to drink. Drink Isabelle," they coax, "it's the only way."

Isabelle does as the voice says – a rare occurrence she'll admit, but something about their deep, velveteen voice makes her want to listen – licking the warm liquid from her lips. She has to suppress a moan. The liquid is bitter and metallic but as soon as it comes into contact with her tongue Isabelle feels it.

Every nerve ending in her body comes alive, burning white hot beneath her skin. Isabelle's eyes fly open. She can feel herself getting stronger by the second as the feeling courses through her – her heart is pumping wildly in her chest.

Her now steady hands grasp the air near her mouth, searching for the source, whatever it is. They come into contact with something solid, firm yet soft – an arm she realises – and Isabelle holds on for dear life.

She drinks greedily, too greedily it seems, as after only moments the arm is ripped away from her and strong hands reach down to restrain her as she tries to follow.

"That's enough," the voice whispers in her ear and she is suddenly tired again, the adrenaline having worn off, her eyes fluttering closed.

It is a strange feeling – like you can do anything and everything in the world you just need to find the energy to get up first. _But this is important_, she reasons, _I have to thank them._

Her eyes flutter open slowly and she has to blink a few times before her vision comes back into focus. And then she is staring into deep brown eyes and it takes less than a second for recognition to sink in.

"Raphael?" her voice is hoarse, she coughs a few times in embarrassment.

He says nothing, merely strokes her cheek gently from where he is kneeling on the ground next to her, a slight smile curving his thin lips. It's unnerving.

"What happened?" she tries again, but as soon as the words leave her mouth they're unnecessary. Everything comes rushing back; the ravenor demons, how there were more than expected, the attack. She hopes Alec and Jace are okay.

"You were attacked," Raphael says, as if they were talking about the weather.

"What did you give me?" the question is measured, hesitant because, to be perfectly honest, she's not sure she wants to know the answer.

Raphael smiles down at her when he answers, still stroking her cheek, but Isabelle sees the way the muscles in his neck tighten when he speaks the words.

"My blood."

Isabelle gulps. She was expecting the answer, so why is she suddenly so terrified?

The next question she has to ask, because, although she doesn't want to hear him say it, although every fibre in her being is telling her not to speak the words she has to know.

"How did you find me?"

It is not what she had originally planned to ask, but his answer remains the same.

"I was following you."

He says the words so calmly, so offhand and it is strangely comforting, but blood is still pounding in her ears; she hadn't expected him to be so . . . honest.

"The blood," she begins, the meaning to his words just sinking in, "Will I be a vampire now?" she doesn't mean to say that either. Isabelle knows you become a vampire – you cannot just drink a vampire's blood, you have to die aswell.

She thinks of Simon, the day he was turned, his mutilated bloody neck and ghost white skin. Dead. Or almost dead at least.

But then she thinks of how she had felt not moments ago. Unconscious? Dead? Her thoughts flicker back to the angel from her dream. She couldn't be sure.

"No," Raphael answers immediately and the noise he makes is almost a laugh, "not unless you die," (_So blunt_) "it'll be out of your system in a few days."

_Oh, what good news_, she thinks sarcastically, but she really is relieved.

Isabelle braces herself, letting her hands – firmly planted on the ground – support her weight as she moves into a sitting position. She brushes Raphael off stubbornly when he tries to help her.

She is feeling much better; her heart rate is back to normal, her head is no longer spinning and the stinging pain in her arm is gone. Wait . . . gone?

_Poisoned_. Bringing her injured arm up to her face, she intends to inspect the wound . . . but there is no wound.

"I took care of that," Raphael answers her unspoken question, rolling his eyes when she looks at him curiously, "you were poisoned and I took care of it."

"But how?" fearing that she already knows the answer, but wanting him to deny it.

Raphael raises an eyebrow, confirming her thoughts.

"You drank my blood?" she guesses she should have expected it from a vampire, but the revelation is a shock all the same.

"I sucked the poison out of your system, it was the only way."

"You already said that."

Raphael smirks down at her.

She had expected him to get angry, defensive maybe, but clearly Raphael is in no way sorry for what he did and she reasons that she shouldn't be either.

"Thank you," she whispers and something squirms inside her stomach when Raphael smiles.

"You're welcome."

"Isabelle? Isabelle!" the call is distance but close enough that Isabelle recognises the voice instantly. _Alec._

She turns to Raphael, his dark eyes boring into hers, "That's my brother."

He nods, "I know."

They stare into each other's eyes for the next, lingering moment. There is something about his eyes, a dept to them and she finds that she cannot look away.

"I should go," he says before getting up in one graceful incline, dusting the dirt off of his knees. Isabelle nods, suddenly speechless, "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this. I have a reputation to uphold," he smirks, "Our little secret?"

She nods again. _Who would I tell?_

Another chorus of her name – from Jace this time – sounds in the distance and she thinks about the consequences of telling her brothers. _They'd freak._

Raphael smiles down at her, and with a final, "Goodbye, Isabelle," in his velvet tone he is gone, leaving her alone on the hard, cold ground feeling suddenly cold herself.

Eventually Alec and Jace find her, but she lies telling them that she took down the ravenor demon herself and that she'd merely hit her head when she fell. They are making their way past the demons body when she spots its disjoined head and a bloody mess where its neck should be. She closes her eyes, waiting for Jace or Alec on either side of her, helping her walk, to call her out on her lie and tell her that there is no way she could have caused _this_ much damage with just her whip. But they don't, too concerned about getting her back to the Institute and into the hospital wing to notice. And for that she is grateful.

Now she just has to work on keeping it a secret.

. . .

He isn't sure why he lied. He had been following her for the better of the last two weeks – and obviously she had noticed – so when Isabelle asked him if he had been following her that night his initial reaction was to say yes. He hadn't been. It was pure coincidence that he found her when he did. But it must mean something.

Raphael has always been superstitious. Growing up in a religious family was sure to have an effect on him and so it is that he believes a high power has some say in matters such as this.

He and Isabelle were _supposed_ to meet tonight. He was _supposed_ to save her. The thought brings a smile to his face.

So maybe it was coincidence. Or maybe it was God's will. But either way he and Isabelle are linked.

Either way he will have her.

. . .

Isabelle wakes up alone, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjust to the blinding light in the hospital. At first she doesn't remember the previous night and for that short, oblivious moment she is happy – save for the pain in her head and the stinging in her eyes. But then the attack, the blood, _Raphael_, it all comes rushing back and she feels her stomach drop from the weight of it all.

_Our little secret._

_Don't tell anyone. I can do that._ Because the truth is, she doesn't _want_ to tell anyone.

She is in last night's clothes she realises, so she sits up, intending to go to her room and as the blood rushes through her body, making her head spin, the pain falls away and she thinks that she's never felt so good in her life. She knew that vampire blood had weird side effects but this is something else.

Not one to dwell on these things, Isabelle gets up and leaves the room.

It would be better if she forgot about last night all together.

. . .

When she walks into the kitchen she is met by beaming faces and a loud chorus of "Isabelle!" from Alec, Jace and Clary – visiting Jace . . . again. She smiles in greeting before sitting down, which leads her to answering all of their obvious questions. _Are you feeling okay? Is your head better? Do you want some orange juice?_ Answering yes to all three, Isabelle sits back with a sigh; it's so nice being waited on.

"Well I think you're really brave Isabelle," Clary begins form across the kitchen table, "to take down a demon all by yourself-"

"Erm, I took down _two_," Jace cut in next to her.

"I know," Clary says, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Isabelle rolls her eyes at their PDA. _Disgusting._

"Here you go," Alec hands her a glass of orange juice with a smile, sitting beside her.

"Thank you."

Isabelle downs the juice in one – she hadn't realised how thirsty she was.

"You know what I don't get," Jace begins, staring at Isabelle curiously. She nods, encouraging him to go on, "How did you do _that_ much damage with just your whip?"

Isabelle freezes.

Oh no, she thought they hadn't noticed that. What did she say?

"Erm, luck?" she jokes and, turning away from them, she feels her face fall.

Jace laughs from behind her, "No, seriously."

Isabelle sighs, leaning against the sink, glass still in hand. _Let it go._

"I really don't know," she says, without turning to face them, "I don't remember much."

Lie. She remembers everything.

"Are you sure?" Alec presses, "Is your head okay?"

"Its fine," she says through gritted teeth, squeezing the glass tighter.

"I don't know," he continues, ignoring her, "Maybe we should call a doctor-"

"I said I'm fine!"

_Crack._

The glass breaks apart in her hand, cutting through her skin and falling to the kitchen floor. Clary gasps.

In an instant Jace and Alec are up out of their seats and coming towards her.

"Isabelle!"

"I'm fine, really," she bites out through the pain, trying to pull away when Alec grabs onto her arm.

"I'll call the doctor," Jace runs out of the room.

Her hand is burning but still Isabelle struggles against her brother when he tries to inspect her hand for damage.

"Isa- Isabelle! Let me see."

"I said I'm fine!"

Isabelle raises her right palm – the one she hasn't injured – intending to push Alec away, but when her palm connects with his chest Alec moves with such force that he is sent half way across the room where he lands with a thump on the laminate flooring.

The room is silent as Isabelle stares down at her brother, mouth agape in shock at what she's just done.

"Wha- Isa-" Alec stammers, looking up at her, his expression a mirror image of hers.

Clary's gaze flickers between the two, but she says nothing.

"I called the-" It is at that point that Jace re-enters the room, breaking off as he takes in the scene before him, "Wha- What happened?"

No-one can answer him.

_End Chapter_

_._

_**A/N: So I've got a storyline planned out, it will involve Isabelle and Raphael's 'blood connection' and what I mentioned last chapter about vampires and Shadowhunters disappearing but I don't want to give too much away.**_

_**So I hope you all liked it and I'll try and update as soon as I can.**_

_**:D**_


	3. Beauty Can Be Deceiving

**I DISCLAIM!**

**_Summary:_**_Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?_

**_A/N:_**_ First of all sorry this took sooooo long, and thanks to everyone who reviewed/faved/alerted. I tried to make this as unfiller-ish as possible, but I still think it's a bit . . . meh. R&R :D_

_. . ._

**Haunted**

"_. . . Wake me up, wake me up,_

_Stop my fall . . ."_

- Every time You Go by Ellie Goulding -

**Chapter 3 | Beauty Can Be Deceiving**

_She is sitting in her room, knees tucked under her chin, when her mother finds her. Maryse closes the bedroom door, expression stoic, before joining her at the end of the bed. There is a rustle of cotton sheets as she sits down, before silence surrounds them._

_Her mother is the first to speak._

"_Isabelle," her tone is dry, but Isabelle catches the slight undertone of impatience. She is worried._

"_Alec told me what happened."_

_Isabelle sighs. It's so like Alec. Don't know how to deal with something? Tell mum._

_Sensing that she isn't going reply, her mother continues._

"_What's going on, Isabelle?"_

_Blunt. Straight to the point. Her mother in a nutshell._

"_Nothing," her voice is small; still in shock she guesses._

"_Oh, Isabelle. I think I know when you're lying. I am your mother."_

_She says nothing, instead staring intently at a spot on her carpeted floor._

"_It's to do with Raphael isn't it?"_

_She has to fight the urge not to flinch at the mention of his name._

_Dark eyes widen in disbelief, but her gaze remains fixated to the floor._

_How does she know?_

"_Answer me, Isabelle."_

_Who told her that?_

"_Look at me, Isabelle."_

_Her head snaps up to attention at those words and she feels the emotion fall from her face as her eyes rest on her mother's form._

_Isabelle's blood runs cold._

"_Isabelle?" a frown creases Maryse's forehead in concern, "What's wrong?"_

_And as she speaks the words, Isabelle watches in horror as a single drop of blood trails from the fangs protruding from her mother's mouth, down her pale neck._

_She screams._

Isabelle wakes with a jolt, her now sweaty nighty clinging to her like an uncomfortable second skin. She sits upright in bed, running a hand through her tangled mass of hair and breathes a deep sigh.

She hasn't been sleeping well for the past few days – even since the you-know-what incident in the kitchen; the one they don't talk about.

Isabelle turns, checking the clock on her nightstand. _3.32am._

It's been like this all night. Every time she wakes up and manages to lull herself back into a restless sleep she will awake again, an hour later, drenched in her own sweat, images of fangs and blood and death still plaguing her thoughts.

This dream had been all too real. Never had she had one so vivid before.

The image of pointed teeth, of blood, hot red and running down her mother's chin flashes through her mind and she has to fight the urge not to throw up.

A shiver runs up Isabelle's spine. It was too . . . disturbing – too real. How she wishes she could forget it.

Her thoughts drift to two nights ago and to the pair of blackish brown eyes, belonging to a certain vampire, she remembers all too well.

She can't fall asleep again after that.

**HAUNTED**

"Are we just going to pretend that nothing going on?"

Isabelle flinches at his words.

They are in the kitchen eating breakfast, an hour before their parents are expected to return from their latest trip to Idris. Jace is out with Clary, so it is just Isabelle and Alec – alone . . . and awkward.

When she had walked into the kitchen that morning she had taken one look at him, his back towards her, and almost walked out again.

Now she wishes she had.

The tension between her and her brother is thick as of late and they have barely spoken to each other since a few days ago when she "attacked" him, (his words, not hers) as she had overheard him refer to it whilst eavesdropping on him and Jace.

But, Isabelle had hoped (maybe foolishly) that Alec at least wouldn't mention it again and they could just go on as if nothing had happened.

No such luck.

Her answer is dripping with false innocence, "Um, what do you mean?"

Nonchalance. That is probably her best option right now.

Isabelle gets up then, turning her back on her brother and suddenly becoming very interested in dish washing.

"Oh, don't give me that Isabelle," his tone is exasperated, "You know what I'm talking about."

"No, really I-"

"Bullshit!"

Isabelle blinks in surprise, the sound of his outburst still echoing off of the tiled walls.

Her brother is a lot of things; awkward, flustered, resentful even, but not angry. Never angry. Isabelle can count the occasions when _she_ had seen him truly blow up with anger on one hand.

This is one of those times.

She stares at him in shock; his cheeks flushed, nostrils flared and electric blue eyes ablaze with such intensity that she looks away in fear of being burned.

She wonders why he is so set on questioning her about this, but then she remembers that he is Alec and he always over thinks _everything_.

"I need to know what's going on Isabelle," his tone is angry still, speaking the words through clenched teeth, "Since when has my sister been strong enough to be able to throw me across rooms?" _Wounded pride much?_ "And I'm-" his tone softens, "I'm worried about you."

Oh.

Guilt hits her like a slap in the face and she finds that it is too hard to look at him, never mind answer his plea.

A few moments pass in loaded silence before he speaks again. "Isabelle . . ."and his voice is so different from before, so opposite end of the scale (quiet, pleading) that her eyes snap up to meet his, "Tell me what's going on, Isabelle."

And a part of her wants to tell him, it does, but she knows that telling Alec will change things. He is so protective that he will try to get involved and she can't do that to him. She refuses to drag him into the mess she has made.

So she lies.

"I can't tell you what you want to hear Alec," Isabelle swallows the lump in her throat, "nothing's going on. Just let it go."

She turns then, and walks back to her room.

Alec's expression was so desperate, so full of concern and Isabelle hates herself for lying to him. _She shouldn't be lying to him._

When she finally reaches her bedroom door Isabelle walks straight past it, her stern expression a sure sign of her new found determination.

She heads for the library, because Alec is right. Something is going on.

And she intends to find out what it is.

**HAUNTED**

They are in Hodge's old office, Maryse working, Isabelle quietly reading a book when it happens; she summons him.

Isabelle is not expecting it, and she jolts in surprise when her mother calls to him. She wants to run, but it's too late – a fog is already breaking out across the room, Raphael's face materialising through the pearly white – running now would look suspicious.

She doesn't want her mother asking questions, and even if she tried to run Isabelle's not sure that she could; she is frozen in place.

Her eyes are glued to his form as his face comes into focus, and she realises with something akin to horror that he is looking right at her.

The sudden urge to shout obscenities at him is overwhelming and she has to bite her tongue to keep from crying out.

_How unexpected_, she thinks. Up until this point she has associated Raphael with fear and anxiety, but never anger, never this . . . annoyance she feels.

She supposes that this is ridiculous in a way. Raphael saved her life after all; she should be thanking him, not cursing him to hell and back in her mind. Although, with all the inconvenience he has caused her, it is really any wonder she feels so angry?

Her mother starts talking then, bringing her back to reality and Isabelle averts her eyes, pretending to read her book when in fact there is a conflict going on inside her head about how she will handle this situation.

She tries to tune out what they are saying, but occasionally something he says will reach her ears and she will get distracted. His smooth voice, the slight accent underneath affects her more than she would like to admit. Warms her blood until it is bubbling read hot beneath her skin. Out of anger or something else she isn't sure.

She tries to ignore it. Puts it down to the vampire blood, which is probably true, but it is still so distracting and Isabelle can barely think straight.

Eventually, when she is calm enough to be able to form a rational thought, Isabelle makes a decision.

She will ignore him.

It is so simple it is a wonder she didn't think of it before.

In a few minutes Raphael and her mother will stop talking and he will leave and Isabelle can go on with her boring day like nothing out of the ordinary happened at all. After that she may never have to see him again and soon the effects of his blood will wear off and her thoughts about him will dwindle until eventually that fateful day he saved her life will be nothing but a distant memory in the back of her mind.

It is at that point that the flaw in her plan makes itself known.

Isabelle doesn't notice her mother leaving the room until she walks straight passed her, and by then it is too late to ask where she is headed. And suddenly the tension in the room is so palpable that she almost collapses under its weight, the anger she felt earlier dissipating.

All thoughts of her plans are forgotten and a feeling works its way into Isabelle's stomach; like a coil, winding tighter and tighter with every passing second.

She can _feel_ his eyes on her, a prickling on the back of her neck and it is as if his stare is made of ice, as if the room temperature has suddenly dropped 20 degrees from his mere presence alone.

_It is not too late to leave_, she decides. Sure it would look suspicious but right now, with this anxiety she is feeling, she is passed caring. And it's not like he could stop her.

She moves before she can talk herself out of it; grasping her book in one hand and moving into a sitting position, preparing to-

"Are you going to pretend I'm not here, Isabelle?"

His voice cuts through the room like a knife, shattering any temporary courage she might have had and she noticeably flinches.

Raphael's quiet chuckle does not go unnoticed.

"There is no need to be so antsy Isabelle. I have already told . . . I will not harm you."

One look in his deep brown eyes tells her that he is speaking the truth; or at least, that that is what he wants her to think. But she will not be drawn in so easily, her anger at him from before is not forgotten.

She settles back into her position on the couch, still not saying a word. She is afraid that her voice will quiver and betray her unease. That is, if it isn't already apparent – Alec always does say that she has an expressive face.

Taking this time to scan his figure, her eyes travel from his stern expression, down to his torso where his white shirt is only buttoned half way, exposing a sliver of his sculpted chest and she surprises herself by admitting that despite how much she resents him, he really is good looking.

Isabelle tries to fight the blush colouring her cheeks – Isabelle Lightwood does _not_ blush – but the vampires' smirk is a sure sign of her failure. She turns away from him, not wanting to embarrass herself further.

It is only when her gaze settles on the title of her book that she realises something.

"What are you re-?"

"Nothing!" hastily shoving the book out of sight, down the side of the couch cushions.

It is the first thing she has said since her mother left the room and, if the panic in her tone is any indication, she is sure that the man before her will realise that "nothing" is always something.

Raphael smirks down at her, a knowing glint in his eyes. "I'll bet."

He says nothing more and Isabelle sighs internally, relieved that he seems to have dropped the subject.

_The Children of the Night._ How ironic that he should show up when Isabelle happens to be reading a book about vampires. She thinks that she should have hidden the book sooner, but she had been so distracted by him that she had forgotten all about it.

After her conversation with Alec that morning Isabelle had taken to the library. This super strength thing was scaring the crap out of her, so she had thought that doing a bit of research was in her best interests.

Like she said, she doesn't like being in the dark and if vampire blood had any particularly dangerous side effects she wanted to know sooner rather than later.

She would have asked Simon, but that seemed insensitive.

And then there is the real reason. This whole weird situation scares her more than she would like to admit and Isabelle would rather take this secret to the grave than have people – especially a friend, like Simon – think she was weak.

The majority of side effects she had found in the book had been nothing too drastic – improved strength, speed, heightened senses – all of which would fade away with time. It had been the last point on the list that Isabelle had found the most disturbing; tucked away at the bottom of the page, in the smallest print, as if it was so unimportant that it might as well be overlooked.

"_. . . a desire to be near to the vampire whose blood was consumed is likely to occur in most cases. This can range from mere thoughts to a desire so consuming it has been known to manifest itself in obsession and/or insanity . . ."_

Admittedly she has thought about Raphael a lot over the past few days, but that has been exactly that: "_mere thoughts"_, a niggling in the back of her mind. _And that is probably all it will ever amount to_, Isabelle concludes. Or, so she hopes.

"I trust," Raphael begins almost hesitantly, as if choosing his words with care and she jumps after the bout of silence, "that you have kept your word and not told anyone about our . . . meeting?"

A scoff escapes her, "Of course not, I'm not stupid," the words burst forth from her lips before she can stop them, and she almost claps a hand over her mouth, dark eyes widening in shock.

Isabelle curses herself at her stupidity. She was supposed to be _unfathomable_, but his ridiculous question had set her off and she hadn't been able to control her annoyance any longer.

Isabelle considers that she should have been expecting it; she has never been good at hiding her emotions.

Raphael is looking at her, a strange mix of shock and admiration in his eyes, and she wonders what he thinks of her. The night he gave her his blood she had been a vulnerable mess and now it seems that the tables have turned for her completely.

Isabelle is even more astounded when Raphael's mouth slowly breaks into a grin.

"No, I suppose you're not."

Annoyingly her confidence diminishes at his words, and she finds that has to look away again. Raphael is a mystery to her and this fact irritates her more than she cares to admit.

She is _so conflicted._

Conflicted about how he is making her feel. Telling her that he won't hurt her and, yet, whenever she looks at him she feels a hateful mixture of anger and vulnerability.

Conflicted about how he is looking at her. His stare makes her feel as though she is being x-rayed – as if he can see straight through the mask she is wearing – and she wants to squirm under his gaze but she won't, because she is not weak and she refuses to feel any more intimidated than she already does.

Conflicted about the way he keeps _saying her name!_ Dragging out the "s" as if caressing it with his tongue; she hates it and loves it all at the same time.

What annoys Isabelle the most is that the vampire refuses to leave her thoughts, and she is not even sure why that _is_ anymore.

She doesn't have to ponder it for too long though, because her mother chooses that moment to renter the room, analysing the scene before her in that critical way she does – Raphael's staring, Isabelle's flushed cheeks. Luckily, Maryse chooses to let it go, moving towards Raphael, her business head clearly back in place.

Isabelle takes that as her chance to leave, rising gracefully from the couch and heading towards the door.

"Isabelle."

His cool voice cuts through whatever it is that her mother is saying, the latter of which looks more shocked than offended. Isabelle stares back at his piercing gaze in disbelief – no man in their right mind would interrupt her mother when she is talking.

He is looking at her intently, eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement, though for what reason she isn't sure.

"You forgot your book," he begins suggestively, "I thought you might . . . need it."

It is like being doused in boiling hot water when she realises what he is saying – so he had known what she was reading after all – her whole body burning in embarrassment. Her cheeks refuse to blush this time – a fact for which she will be eternally grateful – and she snatches the book from the side of the couch, purposefully sparing him one last glance before casually walking out of the room.

She cannot see his eyes boring holes into her back, but she can feel them there.

**HAUNTED**

That night she dreams that she is drowning; surrounded by a body of murky, black water on all sides.

And then, through the darkness she sees it: the creature.

It so _beautiful_ – almost impossible to make out through the glare of the light its golden skin emits, but beautiful all the same.

She could stare at it forever.

Isabelle just has a chance to see the familiar brown eyes through the glow, before the creature opens its mouth and swallows her whole.

_End chapter _

. . .

**_A/N:_**_ So I find this to be a bit boring but I find that with all of my writing lately so..._

_Hopefully the next chapter will be more exciting. NO! IT WILL BE!_

_Anyway, I hope Isabelle was in character here, because I know she was feeling a LOT of emotions but I was trying to convey the sort of effect that Raphael's blood might have on her. The next chapter will be a lot more interesting I promise!_

_Also, I made a few very minor changes to the first two chapters, just spelling really so you don't need to re-read them. And I also changed the time that Isabelle went to visit Simon because I forgot that Raphael couldn't go out in the sun. How silly of me._

_Hope you enjoyed! :D_


	4. Howl

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing._

**_Summary:_**_ Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?_

. . .

**Haunted**

"_I hunt for you with bloody feet,_

_Across the hollow ground . . ."_

- Howl by Florence + the Machine -

**Chapter 4 | Howl**

From his position across the room Raphael watches her – something he seems to always be doing in her presence – and he is surprised (it having only been three days since he last saw her) by how different she looks. Or at least, she does in his eyes.

Raphael notices the little changes. He has never seen her with her hair down, he realises – it is always either tied back or tucked under a beanie hat – and he thinks it looks nice. Or it would, if the dark shade weren't such a stark contrast to her pale skin. Her brown eyes are glassy, dark circles bruising the skin underneath.

_Beautiful._

He was surprised to see her here – fascinating, considering surprise is such a rare occurrence for him – but he has no objections. Especially when staring at her flushed cheeks distracts him from the inane words her mother is speaking.

When Maryse leaves for whatever reason he notices Isabelle's initial discomfort at being alone with him, and it bothers him, but then she yells at him that she is _not stupid_ and he can't help but smile.

He remembers the first time they met, the night of Simon's turning; she had been as strong and demanding then as she is now.

Then Raphael had found it annoying. Now, as she stands before him, her pretty eyes wide as if she can't believe her own courage, it is just another part of the allure.

And then Maryse returns, and damn her because the moment is ruined.

He watches Isabelle walk away with something akin to sadness; but it is short lived.

Because as she disappears from view he reminds himself that he will be seeing her again.

_Very soon._

. . .

_Beep_

_Isabelle? Isabelle, its Simon. Are you there?_

_Erm . . . I guess not._

_Look, we need to talk._

_Alec called me. He's really worried about you. And I am too._

_Just, call me. Okay?_

_Bye._

_Beep_

**. . .**

The person looking back at her through the mirror is not one Isabelle likes very much, and she turns away, instead staring hopelessly at her answering machine as the message draws to an end.

Simon had sent her that message three days ago and Isabelle has still failed to call him back.

She has barely spoken to Alec in that time also, opting instead after receiving the message to childishly give her brother the silent treatment.

She isn't angry with him anymore; she just doesn't have anything to say.

Of course, Jace is still happily wandering through Clary-land so at least Isabelle doesn't have to worry about him.

Yet.

She turns back to her vanity mirror then, noting with resentment that not only does she hate her reflection, she barely recognises it.

The nightmares have yet to fade and Isabelle finds that with every sleepless night she begins to look more and more like one of the Forsaken; bloodshot eyes, skin gaunt and greying. Isabelle has always been slim, but the way her bones are beginning to stick out from underneath her skin is sickening and she finds, as of late, that she has to force herself to eat anything.

She blames it on the stress, which she blames on the lying, which is necessary.

_There is no point burdening anyone with this_, she thinks. In a few weeks, maybe less, the blood will be out of her system and her body will return to normal as if nothing had ever changed. She just has to make it until then.

Or at least, that is what she tells herself.

. . .

"Isabelle! Feet off the table!"

Maryse is in a bad mood. She and Robert are on an important mission from the Clave and their slow progress is stressing her out.

Apparently Isabelle inherited her impatience from her mother.

All morning Isabelle and Alec have watched as their mother frantically paced the kitchen floor, drinking three cups of coffee, brows furrowed and face getting more flushed by the second.

Isabelle thinks that she is partly to blame. Two nights ago, not thirty minutes after leaving Hodge's office, Maryse had burst through her bedroom door demanding to know exactly "what your relationship with Raphael is?"

She had been stunned at first, Okay, so Raphael couldn't have made it anymore obvious that they were more than just 'acquaintances' at present, but Isabelle didn't think that their exchange when Maryse was in the room had given too much away.

By the Angel, she hoped it hadn't.

When Isabelle had answered her mother with a simple, "Nothing, nothing at all," clearly not the best lie she'd ever told, Maryse had stared at her suspiciously for a moment before demanding that she go to bed and leaving the room.

Isabelle had vowed that, from then on, she would never be caught in Hodge's office again.

Maryse stops her pacing, leaving the Institute with a hurried "I'll be back before dinner," and a "be careful today," and Isabelle and Alec are left alone.

Isabelle keeps quiet, refusing to be the one to break the silence.

She doesn't have to wait too long.

"Are you still mad at me?"

The words are quiet and awkward and Isabelle feels some sort of sadistic pleasure in knowing that Alec is suffering. The feeling shocks her, but it doesn't last long and she answers truthfully all the same.

"No."

"Then why aren't you talking to me?"

"Because I have nothing to say."

A pause as Alec registers these words and she doesn't miss the flash of hurt across his face.

"Are you going to see Simon today?"

Isabelle sighs. Sometimes her brother is too persistent for his own good.

"I think it would be in your . . . best interests," he continues, as if in conformation of her thoughts, "I mean . . . he is your best friend."

His voice is small and Isabelle realises that he is . . . jealous? He thinks that she would rather share this with Simon than with him. She supposes that she would feel jealous too, if the situations were reversed. But they are not and what Alec doesn't realise is that she can't tell _anybody_. Not about this.

She fails to tell Alec how badly she wants to confess her secret to him this second. She fails to tell him that, yes, visiting Simon would be in her best interests, but not for the reason he thinks.

Simon is vampire – no matter how short a time it has been since he was turned – and therefore a lot more likely to know about the effects of vampire blood than her, having also experienced it firsthand.

_And he probably went through the exact same thing I am_, she thinks.

Isabelle realises that, maybe, on some unconscious level, she has already decided to visit Simon today and she tells her brother as much, feeling something akin to satisfaction wash over her as a look of relief shows on his face.

_At least I can give him this._

"That's great, erm," he answers tone considerably lighter as he rises from his seat at the kitchen table, "I'm coming with you."

Isabelle quirks an eyebrow.

"You are?" she inquires, noting how quickly the atmosphere in the room has changed.

"Yeah, go grab your coat," Alec presses, smiling down at her.

Isabelle smiles back reluctantly before fetching her coat from her room.

She has a very bad feeling about this.

. . .

_Knock, knock._

A curse.

A crash.

"Ow!"

A laugh.

Isabelle turns to her brother with an accusatory stare, "This was a bad idea."

Alec stares back, expression sheepish as if he is starting to believe the words himself.

Footsteps can be heard from the other side of the door, muffled voices, before the door bursts open to reveal a smiling Maia and Simon. The latter's smile falls when he recognises her.

"Isabelle?"

_Yes Simon, don't be too excited to see me._

She merely raises an eyebrow in acknowledgement.

"Isabelle, good to see y-" Maia trails off, seemingly detecting Isabelle's less than happy mood. She tries to smile warmly at the werewolf girl, but she suspects that it looks more like a grimace.

Apparently Maia is a smart girl because, realising that this is more than just a social visit, she mutters a quick "goodbye," kisses Simon on the cheek and just like that she is gone.

Isabelle mourns her departure; it brings her one step closer to telling Simon what she has sworn not to tell.

She did a lot of thinking on the way here coming to the conclusion that, although Simon is not the sharpest tool in the shed, he will probably figure her predicament out after Alec tells him what he knows.

At first the thought had scared her half to death. She had promised Raphael that she would not tell _anyone_ about this and up until now she had kept that promise.

_But_, she thought, _why should I?_

Yes, Raphael had saved her life and for that she should be grateful, but since then all he had been to her was a nuisance; one that she couldn't stop thinking about, but a nuisance all the same.

And besides, Isabelle was still unsure of his reasoning for saving her in the first place and until that reason became clear she had decided that she didn't owe him anything.

She has this feeling in her gut, something she suspects is guilt, but she will not feel bad. If Simon is to figure it out, so be it.

Simon waves them into his house then and she trudges in behind Alec, reminding herself all the while exactly who she is doing this for. Alec had looked so happy when she had agreed to come: she couldn't refuse him.

They wander into the living room, Simon and Alec talking in serious tones, but Isabelle is not listening. She stares curiously around the room, as if seeing it for the first time; the cream couches, blue walls, abnormally large television set in the corner. There is a photograph of Simon when he was younger on one wall and she smiles at his goofy grin and too large ears.

That's when she smells it. It hits her, the scent so strong it burns her nostrils and makes her eyes water. She gags, taking a step back as if to put distance between her and the smell but it no use.

"What is that smell?" she chokes out and the two others in the room look at her, a mixture of worry and shock clouding their features.

Simon opens his mouth to talk but Isabelle doesn't stop to listen. She moves, in pursuit, towards the smell because curiosity gets the better of her and she _needs_ to know what it is.

The smell gets stronger when she walks through the kitchen, passed the refrigerator and she yanks open the door, inspecting the contents for the source. Her hand falls from her face, a frown creasing her forehead as she reaches inside, ignoring the tingling in her nostrils.

Alec and Simon enter the room just in time to see her pull out the object.

Cheese: A small, square lump of yellow cheese, greenish grey mould covering one side.

Isabelle looks at them. They look at her. They look at each other.

"See what I mean?" concern laces Alec's tone.

Simon turns to her, a scowl tensing his pale features.

"Isabelle . . . we need to talk."

. . .

They sit in silence. Not saying a word because, as Isabelle has already explained, she only came so Alec would stop looking at her with puppy dog eyes.

So maybe that is a lie, but she doesn't think that he is likely to accept her real reason for not talking. The truth is: she doesn't know where to start.

This is more complicated than she thought it would be this afternoon when she and Alec left the house. She thought that Simon would have found the answer all on his own by now, without her help, leaving her guilt free and able to finally relieve some of the weight burdening her shoulders.

Huh. She should be so lucky.

Alec had left the room a while ago, wanting to "give you some privacy". He is hoping that she will tell Simon everything, she knows, but this is not quite that easy.

And this isn't exactly something you can just drop into casual conversation:

"Oh, I've been great! Went to the movies, drank some vampire blood. Erm . . . how's your sister by the way?"

No, no, because that would be too simple. And nothing about this is simple.

"You know Isabelle," Simon begins now from where he is seated opposite her, snapping her out of her reverie, "If you don't mind my saying," he smiles apologetically, "you look like crap."

Isabelle rolls her eyes. _Oh, Simon, ever the charmer._

"Yeah, well, sleep deprivation will do that to a girl."

He is silent for a moment, contemplating her words, and when he speaks, Isabelle rolls her eyes again.

"Okay Lightwood, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Oh yeah? What's the easy way?"

"You tell me what's been going on. The hard way is I annoy you until you do."

Eye roll.

"Stop that."

"I told you. I only came f-"

"For Alec's sake I know."

There is another pause, during which she childishly thinks about how unfair this all is and that she would like to go home.

"Alec told me that you beat him up last week."

"I did not be-"

"He says you've been acting weird-"

She doesn't interrupt, because that part is true.

"-and I figure that, seeing as it's your world and nothing is ever _normal_ that there must be some bizarre explanation for it."

Isabelle hangs her head; this is the part she has been worrying about.

"So let's see. You have . . . what is it? Improved strength? You can smell the rotting cheese from my fridge, that's a little weird."

She is getting antsy now. He is so close and though a part of her is screaming at her to _end this __now_. The other part desperately wants him to know.

"You can't sleep. You look . . . worse than usual . . ." Isabelle is more than surprised when a soft chuckle bursts forth from his mouth, "You know," he continues, between laughs, "if I didn't know any better I'd say that you . . ."

She can pin point the exact moment that he figures it out. His voice trails off, breaths become laboured and Isabelle closes her eyes, not really caring that her broken expression is a sure give away that he is right.

She knows he has guessed it, but she still flinches when he speaks the words aloud.

". . . drank vampire blood."

The silence that ensues is deafening. Isabelle opens her dark eyes, staring into Simon's perturbed brown ones and she feels . . . nothing. Nothing. No guilt. No relief. Nothing. The realisation is so frustrating she wants to scream. But, she reasons, Simon doesn't know the worst part yet.

His expression is suddenly furious.

"You drank vampire blood?"

"Shush, keep it dow-"

"What the hell Isabelle?"

"Look I didn't want to," she explains desperately.

"Oh, they forced it down your throat did they?"

"They saved my life!"

"What," clearly Simon thinks very little of his own species because he is finding it hard to believe a word she is saying, "and which vampire would save you-"

Apparently Isabelle underestimated Simon, because he is putting two and two together and coming up with four faster than she thought possible.

"It's Raphael isn't it?" and she assumes he will take her silence as confirmation, "That's why he was looking at you so much the other week when you were both here isn't it?"

She thinks about telling Simon that it happened after that day, but she can't find the words.

Simon shuffles uncomfortably, "Oh, this is bad Isabelle, bad. Raphael is not a good guy. He's still after me because of this," he pulls back his shaggy, side fringe, revealing the rune underneath.

"I know," she begins insistently, a little put out that he's not happy about Raphael _saving her life,_ "okay, I know he's not a good guy, but at the time I was nearly dead Simon, and there wasn't a lot I could do to stop him."

"Well you can now! You can stay away from him. You have to forget about him"

There is pause, whilst she considers his words, before answering.

"I'm not sure I can."

Try as she might in the past she cannot forget him. There is always something, some reminder that makes her mind drift back to him and that night.

But that is not the only reason why.

"But- what do you mean?"

She takes a deep breath.

"I- I hear him sometimes, in my head. It's like he's talking to me."

This has only begun recently and she hadn't thought about it much until now – putting it down to one of the many effects of vampire blood – but every now and then she will hear him, his voice, whispering her name exactly like he did on the night that he saved her.

Sometimes she finds it comforting, but then she remembers that it is wrong and she puts the thought from her mind.

It is always there, in the back of her mind, ready to spring on her when she is not expecting it.

Simon looks at her now as if he might throw up – can vampires even do that? – and his expression is more unsettling than any voices in her mind.

"What?" she asks, voice small, "Did you not . . . hear anything, when you drank his blood?"

Slowly, he shakes his head.

"No."

Isabelle's heart drops to somewhere below her ribcage.

If what Simon is saying is true – which she doesn't doubt – then this is wrong, very wrong and everything she thought she knew has just been thrown out of the window.

_What does this mean?_ The question echoes through her mind, the mixture of words and pain and _wrong_ that it has become and suddenly it is too much. The stress is eating away at her mind and it is _too much._

She doesn't think before she acts. She just rises from her chair, out of the living room, – almost tripping over own feet in her haste – past a surprised Alec and out the front door.

Simon's cries of protest are drowned out by the cool, city air.

. . .

"Isabelle-"

"This was a stupid idea."

They are walking home, Isabelle charging furiously ahead as Alec trails behind her. He has been trying fruitlessly to make her turn around and go back to Simon's since they left, but she will not have it.

_Alec doesn't understand_, she thinks to herself. _He didn't hear what Simon said. He doesn't understand anything._

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

She stops at a crossing, carefully avoiding a chubby, balding man as he comes to stand in front of her – they are using their glamour, and the prospect of people trying to walk _through_ her is not a welcome one.

Alec comes to a stop beside her and Isabelle has half a mind to walk out into the oncoming traffic just so she doesn't have to listen to her brother's stupid questions any longer.

"Whatever Simon told you-" Alec begins and he is trying to sound friendly, but Isabelle can hear the strain in his voice, "-it can't be that bad. Right?"

She turns him, the glare in her eyes conveying how very wrong he is.

"Alec, you have no idea."

And without a second thought, she steps out onto the tar-mac road.

"Isabelle? Isabelle!"

_Go away_, she thinks furiously, just narrowly avoiding the path of an approaching taxi cab before dodging out of its way.

"Look, would you at least watch where you walk-"

"Go away Alec. Get the hint and leave me alone. We're not talking about this," Isabelle answers bitingly, refusing to look anywhere but at the street ahead, even as cars continue to filter in from her left; she avoids them as easily as if they were not there.

Alec is lagging behind, weaving carefully through the traffic and she has that annoying sensation when you know that someone is following you.

"Isabelle, just stop, this is ridiculous . . . walking in the middle of the street!"

"Then why are you doing it?"

She is in the centre of the two roads now, and she steps over the narrow, concrete path to where the traffic filters in from the opposite direction, carrying on as if no obstacle stood in her way.

"Isabelle? Isabe-"

"Alec, just shut up!"

She stops dead, swirling around to face her brother, and what she sees sends a jolt of terror straight to her core. Alec's face contorted in what can only be described as horror; his eyes darting from her to something on her left.

After that, everything seems to happen _very slowly._

Isabelle turns, a thought of what she is about to see flashing through her mind. But it is so fast she doesn't register it and it is gone as quickly as it came.

Her stomach drops when she sees the car coming towards her, travelling well beyond the speed limit.

She just has time to instinctively close her eyes and bring her arms up to shield her head before the car collides with her side.

_End Chapter_

. . .

**A/N:**___ Originally this chapter was reeeeeally long. So I split it in two and left it on cliffie :D AHH CLIFFIE!_

_Sorry if this seems a bit jumpy but I just really want to get to the Raphael/Isabelle interacts which are coming in the next two chapters. YEY!_

_Now, I'm not one to beg for reviews – I find it desperate and needy for want of a better word – but this is me begging! Tell me what you think? Love it? Hate it? Does it make you feel slightly sick?What can I do better? Flames welcome!_

_Thanks to Seph Meadowes for the review last chapter! :D_

_Erm, I've run out of things to say._

_Ohhh! Has anyone read the first chapter extract from City of Fallen Angels, I which Isabelle calls Raphael a jerk? Ahhhh, made my day . . ._


	5. What Have You Done?

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing._

**_Summary:_**_ Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?_

. . .

**Haunted**

"_Was this over before,_

_Before it ever began . . ."_

- Feel Good Drag by Anberlin -

**Chapter 5 | What Have You Done?**

Everything is loud: too loud. Everything is too loud because – even over the screams and the gasps and the "What the hell's?" – the ringing in her ears is almost deafening.

At first she is disoriented, but it only takes a moment for her thoughts to clear, for her memories to come back into focus and Isabelle thinks that she must be dead. She _must_ be dead because no-one could survive a head on collision like that. But then she feels the ground beneath her feet and the feel of warm metal pressed against her form and her mind goes into overdrive.

_Maybe this is a dream, she thinks, or a dream of a dream._ Another of the violent, terrifying nightmares she has. Only her dreams always involve death and this . . .

Surely death must be different. Surely there would be more relief, more finality, not this _panic_ she feels.

The feeling starts in her chest, working its way out. Isabelle steps back from the car hurriedly, straightening from her crouch and she stares around, ears still ringing, a fearful expression on her face.

Everyone is looking at her – no, looking _through_ her, she corrects, but she feels the weight of their gaze all the same.

Isabelle chances a look at the car in front of her and she can barely believe her eyes. The bumper is packed in on itself; the indent there matching perfectly to her form.

But that can't be.

It is one of those moments in life when everything seems surreal. You are dazed, overcome, all logical explanation fails you.

_Life in cartoon motion._

Isabelle turns to her brother, seeking an explanation – because if anyone can make sense of all this it is Alec – but his expression is unreadable.

Alec stares at her and he is oddly calm, unsurprised, the only indication that he is even witnessing the scene before him is his taut jaw. It is so much more disconcerting than if he had been angry.

Isabelle turns away from him, chancing one final glance at the crowd surrounding her, a new kind of panic brewing beneath her skin.

Her instinct talks to her and Isabelle listens.

She runs.

. . .

She only realises that Alec has not followed her when she arrives home.

When she gets to her room the events of the day catch up to her and suddenly she is struck by such a strong wave of exhaustion that she falls, face first, onto her bed covers and does not get up again.

. . .

_The night air is cold and Isabelle wonders what she was thinking going outside in the thin, white cotton dress she is wearing on a day like this. But she trudges, bare foot through the muddy earth regardless._

_She's been here before, Isabelle thinks and she feels an overwhelming sense of déjà vu when she realises that she is in a cemetery – the cemetery where they buried Simon before he was turned._

_She walks along a cobbled, winding path as night settles, noting how dark it is here – the green foliage looks black. Not a thing can be heard. Not the _whit whoo _of an owl. Not the scurry of a squirrel. Nothing._

_It is not eerie – not what you would expect from a _cemetery – _and Isabelle feels strangely serene. Even as the trees tower ominously over her on both sides. She feels as if they are protecting her, keeping her safe._

_But from what?_

_She feels a pull, somewhere below her navel, as if she is being led, led to somewhere she _needs to be _and she surprises herself when, after minutes of walking, she stops dead in her tracks._

_The space she is in is enclosed, away from prying eyes – not that there were any to begin with; she is completely alone – and Isabelle feels a sudden wave of recurrence. She vaguely wonders if this is the spot where they buried Simon, but the events of that night are too blurry for her to recall._

_A sudden rustle in the leaves behind her draws Isabelle's attention and she turns to the sound._

"_Isabelle," a voice breaks through the quiet. She doesn't notice the dark silhouette – lodged between two trees and pitch black in the dim light from the stars – until they speak._

"_Simon?" she is surprised by her questioning tone; she is so sure that it is him. Isabelle supposes that she should've seen this coming. This is the place where Simon was reborn as a vampire, why wouldn't he be here? But she can't stop asking herself why he would be here._

_When the voice does not answer Isabelle begins to have doubts._

"_Simon, is that you?" she asks again studying his silhouette. The shape is too short, too well-built to be Simon. And they still haven't moved from that spot._

"_Yes Isabelle," he answers coyly, and it is definitely Simon's voice, though she is only somewhat __reassured. He continues, "It is me."_

_They are silent for a time as she stares at the figure – Simon's figure? – eyebrows knitted together in a frown, before he speaks again._

"_You have to leave Isabelle."_

_There is a pause whilst she contemplates the words, before a soft chuckle her lips, though she wonders why she is laughing._

"_What are you talking about Simon?" he doesn't explain, only repeats his words._

_He has still not moved, she notices, suddenly annoyed._

"_Come closer," it is not a request, more of a demand, but he still stays rooted to the spot._

"_Go home Isabelle. It's not safe here."_

"_Come closer." Her tone is irritated, frustrated by his behaviour._

_Simon takes a step forward and she feels a small sense of triumph, until he speaks,_

"_Isabelle."_

_Simon coo's the word, his animated, boyish voice slipping into something soft and smooth, definitely _not _Simon._

"_Isabelle," they repeat – whoever they are – singing her name like a melody, caressing it with the tip of their tongue and she involuntarily shivers._

_Isabelle frowns, confused, before unconsciously stepping towards the still unrecognisable form. From this vantage point she can make out more of them, their slightly muscular shape, and their wisp of dark curls. There is a small patch of starlight, directly in front of them. If they were to just step forward . . ._

"_Simon, is that you?" she repeats, and though the question is the same, the answer is different._

"_No Isabelle," he steps forward, into the patch of light and, instantly, Isabelle can make them out; olive skin, strong jaw, deep brown eyes._

"_It's me."_

Isabelle wakes in a heap on her carpeted bedroom floor, confusion dissipating as she realises that she must have fallen out of bed – there is a throbbing pain at the back of her head where she suspects she hit it off of her nightstand.

She just has a chance to scramble up from the floor, before the panic sets in. It claws at her chest until she can barely breathe and she holds one arm over her torso protectively, as if the action will contain it.

Images flash through her mind, of yesterday – the light streaming through her window tells her it is morning – of Alec and Simon, crowded roads and speeding cars; of the dream, of Raphael's face.

Without thinking, she makes for the door. An unsteady hand scratches at the door knob until she has a firm grip and she wrenches it open, proceeding out into the deserted hallway beyond.

She has a destination in mind, and she charges there with purpose – or as much as she can muster in her panicked state – fists clenched at her sides. Isabelle knows that she is making too much noise but she doesn't care; her bare feet slap against the hardwood floor beneath her and if she weren't so panicked and distracted she would have noticed that somebody has removed her socks and shoes.

Finally, after minutes of walking through the silent institute, Isabelle makes it to Hodge's office. She bursts through the door, the suffocating panic in her chest morphing into anger.

Isabelle makes her way to the back of the room and, without hesitation, opens the top desk drawer. Paper, a stele, a book, matches – she takes the objects out of the draw, clumsily placing them on the desk top without pause. She is afraid that if she pauses she will rethink what she is about to do.

Her fingers close around the cool metal of the stele and she curses, noticing the way her hand is shaking. Taking a deep breath – though it does little to steady her pounding heart – she puts stele to paper, reminding herself that she has seen her mother do this enough times not to be so nervous. Isabelle traces the rune on the paper, shaky hands making the design less than perfect, before flipping to the right page in the book. She lights a match, setting fire to the paper, briefly watching as it melts away, before turning back to the book.

It is a spell book of sorts Maryse had told her – warlocks spells modified for Shadowhunter use – once belonging to her grandmother, though Isabelle has never taken an interest in it until now.

She speaks the incantation from the book – she has heard her mother say it so often that the words roll off of her tongue with ease – and then there is a flash of bright, white light, dissolving into blue, purple, before the room is silent once more. Untouched, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

The paper she is holding melts away, solid dissolving into gas before pearly white fog is materialising in front of her. Isabelle stands stock still, watching as a face appears through the fog, a form, a figure. _Raphael_.

He is facing away from her, jaw taut, shoulders tense, telling her that he is more than ticked off at the interruption.

"Maryse what do you want now?" he bites out as the final wisps of fog disperse and he is left, standing before her. Raphael turns towards her, "I thought I told you-"

He stops dead when he sees her, mouth still open – an expression Isabelle never thought she'd see on his face – but doesn't say a word.

And as she stares into his shocked brown eyes, the panic sets in again, the events of the day rushing back to the surface – the car, Simon's words, Alec's face – she takes a deep, calming breath and speaks the words, the words that have been repeating themselves in her mind like a mantra since she woke up.

"What have you done to me?"

_End Chapter_

. . .

_**A/N:**__ So this is a bit sloppy and short, but I had some ideas that I just need to put down. YEY for filler chapters. The next chapter is the one that the last few have been leading up to. The Isabelle and Raphael . . . confrontation. GASP!_

_Also, I'd originally planned this fic to be about 10-11 chapters but I've made soon changes to the plot and now I'm think more along the lines of 16. What do you think? Sound good?_

_So erm . . . yeah . . . I can't think of anything else to write! Thanks for the reviews/alerts from last chapter and I'll update soon soon :D_


	6. Be Wary

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing._

**_Summary:_**_ Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?_

**_A/N:_**_ There's a bit of fluff in this chap-y. Don't blink, you'll miss it . . ._

. . .

**Haunted**

"_She's beautiful as usual, with bruises on her ego,_

_And her killer instinct tells her to,_

_Be aware of evil men . . ."_

- Pretty Girl by Sugarcult -

**Chapter 6 | Be Wary**

The park is eerily quiet. No birds chirping in the trees, no distant sounds of traffic, no pedestrians passing by. Though Isabelle thinks that this isn't too odd because it is almost 1 o'clock in the morning and people are rarely out this late – or early she supposes – on a Tuesday.

Isabelle assumes that she will get scolded when she eventually returns home – her phone has already vibrated five times – but right now she couldn't care less.

She sits alone on a park bench, hands in pockets, under the safety of a tall willow tree and waits.

_This is a bad idea._

Every now and again the thought will cross her mind, but then she will remind herself of why she is here (_not_ who she is meeting) and the thought will fade.

Nineteen hours have passed since that morning when she had charged into Hodge's office, summoned Raphael and demanded to know his part in all of this.

Isabelle is embarrassed now, as she thinks of her childish behaviour. What Raphael must think of her . . .

Where she had babbled incoherently he had calmly suggested that they meet so they could talk about "whatever it is you're blabbing on about".

He had suggested the Institute, but she had made an excuse – something about "it's not like you can come inside anyway" – when in reality she just couldn't bear the thought of him being in her house; that and the fact that if her mother saw him, Isabelle would be dead meat.

Isabelle had suggested the Dumort – it was secluded and quiet; some place she could do a lot of screaming in if necessary – but the name had caused Raphael to become edgy and uncomfortable and that was when he had mentioned this little park in Brooklyn.

It is nice she guesses – all trees and grass and rose bushes around the edges – some place that would look nice on a hot summer's day, full of life and chatter, sunlight streaming through.

Now, in the pitch darkness, it just looks dead.

There is a rustle of leaves to Isabelle's left – one she wouldn't have heard were it not for her super-human hearing – and she turns at the sound, watching as the figure materialises through the foliage, just like it did in her dream.

Raphael sits beside her silently, not saying a word, simply looking at her, so she takes it upon herself to be the first to speak.

Isabelle clears the lump in her throat, "Thank you for coming," she says politely, because when she is around him she feels so intimidated, as if she is talking to a grown up, despite the fact that he cannot be more than two years older than her (not counting vampire years that is).

She notices how Raphael has to refrain from smirking at her when he answers with an amused, "you're welcome", Isabelle does not smile back, merely fixes him with a piercing stare because nothing about this situation is funny.

Seeming to detect her discomfort, the smile falls from Raphael's face and when his eyes look up to meet hers it is like he is looking _straight through her_.

"So Isabelle," he purrs her name, just like he always does – her mind goes back to the dream again and a shiver runs up her spine.

"Do you mind telling me why I'm here?"

. . .

The way she is reacting to him now – sitting as far away from him as the narrow bench will allow, body taunt and defensive, the only indication that they even know each other the steady eye contact they are keeping – makes him rethink his earlier assumption. It is not a mask she wears: it is a shell.

One which she seems to crawl into whenever he is near.

Raphael thinks back to that morning, at the Institute. The way she had talked to him, demandingly, as if she had some kind of power over him – which, though he hates to admit it, she does. It had reminded him of the night Simon had turned; she had been a spitfire then too.

He looks at her now and he can see that girl, shaking beneath the surface, begging to be set free. But, it would seem, Isabelle has more self control than he had originally thought and she sits, expression stoic – except for her eyes; they are wide, dangerous even – refusing to let loose neither the anxiety nor the anger that Raphael knows she is feeling.

It is only a matter of time.

"Do you mind telling me why I'm here?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth her body tenses. He is unsure as to what the reason for this is; the question or just the sound of his voice. When Isabelle answers moments later, he assumes that it is the latter.

"I went to see Simon yesterday," she pauses, expression distant as if she is reliving something unpleasant. Understandable: Raphael cannot remember a time when seeing her fledgling vampire friend hadn't been unpleasant.

"I told him . . . everything."

Raphael sighs, which surprises Isabelle judging by her expression, but the girl is infuriating him already and they have been talking less than five minutes.

"Isabelle, I asked you not to say anything-"

"And why shouldn't I?" she cuts in, "Do you have any idea what I am going through?"

_Ah_, Raphael thinks, _there she is_. There is that intriguing girl peeping through again, the one he has been waiting for.

He keeps calm, because watching her lose control like this is far too entertaining to be getting angry over.

"Well actually I do," he says impassively and Isabelle twitches, uncomfortable, as she realises the truth behind his words. Raphael is strangely assumed at the action.

He quirks an eyebrow at her questioningly when she shakes her head.

"No, no," she stutters, eyes still wide, looking and sounding every bit like a mad woman, "this is different," Raphael wonders if she notices when she shuffles closer to him with every word.

"Really?" he asks with a smirk, acting more amused than he really is, "how so?"

. . .

She doesn't realise how close they are until he speaks the words, but she does not move away. Isabelle leans closer, as if the proximity will force him to listen to her. What she does not know is that Raphael is hanging off of her every word.

"Because," she whispers and Isabelle supposes she looks demented like that – eyes wide, desperately clinging to her jacket as if it is a life line; from the way Raphael is leaning away from her, fruitlessly trying to hide his discomfort she supposes that she is right.

"I hear things. Voices in my head . . ." she notices how Raphael's brow puckers slightly, "Your voice. That's not normal is it?" she finishes challengingly.

Something flickers behind his hazel eyes but it is gone as quickly as it came and then Raphael's face is expressionless again, the unfathomable mask back in place.

There is not a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"Who are we to say what is normal?" he is so obviously putting off talking about this that she almost rolls her eyes.

"Simon said that people who drink vampire blood don't _hear voices_. Is he right? Do they?"

Raphael does hesitate before he answers this time, "Everybody . . . reacts to it differently . . . Hearing voices is perfectly normal."

A part of her tells herself that he is lying – that his hesitation is a sure sign of that – but another part of her refuses to listen, and Isabelle breathes a sigh of relief as his words echo through her mind.

"Good, that was all I needed to hear."

And then silence.

Isabelle stares at the ground for a moment after that, waiting for one of them to speak – she can feel his eyes burning holes in the side of her head.

_Leave now,_ she tells herself. She's got what she came for, she can go. She _should_ go.

So why does she feel like something is keeping her here.

Isabelle doesn't realise what she's saying until after the words have left her mouth.

"I got hit by a car today."

It is strange, Isabelle thinks, that moments ago she could hardly _look_ at Raphael and now the words roll off of her tongue with ease. She is certain that she would be willing to reveal her deepest darkest secrets to him if he asked. She is also certain that there is some creepy, vampire reason behind it.

But, she will hand it to him that, throughout the conversation Raphael has at least remained (almost) civil. She almost feels bad for – more than once – having bad mouthed him to Simon. Perhaps he isn't as bad as she had originally thought.

Isabelle quickly rethinks that last statement when Raphael's laughter echoes around the deserted park.

So, maybe "laughter" isn't the right word – she cannot wrap her head around the idea of Raphael _laughing_; the mental image is almost disturbing – more of a scoff, but he is definitely amused. And by Isabelle's book, laughing at the possibility of somebody being _hit by a car_ is just odd.

"That's not funny," the words are breathless and her eyes are wide, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Raphael stops his scoffing, nose crinkling, regarding Isabelle with something like pity.

"I do wonder about you Isabelle. You never fail to surprise me."

So maybe he was only "scoffing" at her.

Isabelle has to push down the feeling when pride swells in her chest.

"Well I do try," she says – because she is Isabelle Lightwood, and despite how much Raphael creeps her out she is not one to miss an opportunity to flirt.

Raphael smirks, as if he knows her thinking, but then the atmosphere changes and they are staring at each other so seriously, so intensely, it makes Isabelle's head spin.

"How long will it last?" she whispers.

He pauses, studying her intently, before answering.

"A few weeks at most; just until the blood is out of your system."

And then he leans forward – she smells him: all musk and spice and something like cigarette smoke – and says something _so warm_ she thinks she has to be dreaming for it to come out of Raphael's mouth.

"And I'll be there for you," he looks at her from under his lashes and Isabelle thinks that he is a damn good actor, "If you want me to be."

Isabelle looks away from his intense gaze because a part of her hates the idea – it wants Raphael to be out of her hair and out of her life as soon as possible. So why is another part of her almost glad?

. . .

So he lied. So what? Raphael is so used to lying by now that it is second nature to him.

And anyway, he assures himself, not lying (especially to Isabelle Lightwood, with her fiery temper) probably would have had disastrous consequences.

The truth is, never, not once, has Raphael ever heard of vampire blood causing anyone to hear voices. He had only told Isabelle that to put her at ease – that and the thought of her hearing _his_ voice was almost . . . flattering.

He does not know what caused it.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps everyone does react to vampire blood in different ways. Perhaps her unconscious mind has held onto the sound of his voice – his blood triggering its release in the form of a hallucination. Perhaps Isabelle is just insane.

For reasons unknown, Raphael hopes that it is not the latter.

He does not know what caused it, but one thing he does know . . . he intends to find out.

_End Chapter._

. . .

_**A/N:** Is it what you expected? Nah, me neither. Sorry if this seems a bite rushed, I just kept remembering things I wanted to put in and BAM!_

_Also, its safe to say that from now on Kick-ass!Isabelle will be making a return ;) And the Isaphael "relationship" will be . . . progressing. (I'm calling them that now because I can't be bothered writing Isabelle/Raphael – kinda defeated the objective there didn't I)_

_City of Fallen Angels tomorrow! I'm buzzing. I really wanted to get this chapter out before then – that's why its a bit sloppy – because until I've read it I will most likely be dead to the world. Yes, I'm that sad/obsessed. Sigh._

_Thanks to Seph Meadowes and White Wolf for the reviews, hope you enjoyed._

_Next chapter the angst returns! And Raphael does something . . . Unforgivable. GASP! I actually LOVE what's gonna happen next! :D Ahhhh . . ._


	7. Enjoy The Silence

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing._

_**Summary:**__ Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?_

_**I know it's been a while, but hopefully this loooooong chapter will make up for it :D**_

_**Thanks for all the great reviews! To Meghan Delano: Funny you should ask! Yes I am updating ;) Thanks!**_

. . .

**Haunted**

"All I ever wanted,

All I ever needed,

Is here, in my arms . . ."

- Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode –

**Chapter 7 | Enjoy the Silence**

She knew meeting Raphael would be a bad idea.

What were once daydreams, mere passing thoughts gradually turn to obsession until Raphael, his brown eyes, his monotonous voice consumes Isabelle's every thought. She cannot concentrate on anything but the memory of him. Everything reminds her of _him_.

She still hears him sometimes – though it is evident that the longer she stays away from Raphael the more distant his voice seems to become. But still his soft voice calls to her and more than once, when she is drifting into sleep or when her mind is too far gone thinking about him to notice, Isabelle will find herself calling back.

This . . . fixation she has. It is border-lining on unhealthy.

Her appetite is still wavering and anything Isabelle does eat has an unnatural metallic taste and she finds that she cannot hold it down.

Isabelle's already lean form appears gaunter by the day and she noticeably cringes when Clary – of all people – is the one to call her out on her outward appearance with an "are you okay, Isabelle? You look at bit peaky."

Isabelle brushes her off with some lame comment about how she thinks she's developing the flu – yeah, right. Like that would stop her – before her thoughts return once more to Raphael.

It has been three weeks now since their meeting in the park and Isabelle realises that she can't keep blaming the voices in her head – not to mention her slight emotional breakdown – on Raphael's blood. Simon never heard voices and from what Raphael suggested the blood should be out of her system by now.

Isabelle is unsurprised. Maybe, subconsciously, in the back of her mind she always suspected that his voice had nothing to do with his blood. Maybe that was why she was so freaked out.

The only question is what to do about it now. And why won't it go away?

. . .

It is a god damn miracle that Simon didn't tell Alec about Raphael.

For the past week Isabelle has been avoiding her brother like the plague – a feat she now deems unnecessary as not one hour ago Alec had cornered her in the kitchen, demanding to know, "what it is you can tell Simon that you can't tell me?"

(The phone message from Simon, Isabelle had been avoiding listening to, later confirmed that, in fact, Simon hadn't told Alec a thing. Despite how many times her brother had threatened to punch his face in.)

She had answered Alec with a hard-faced, "None of your business, Alec," before escaping to her room, where she now lays on her bed, torn between the urges to both laugh and cry.

A part of her is relieved. Isabelle cannot bear the thought of her big brother thinking badly of her. And if he were to find out about Raphael, he _would think badly of her._

Another part of her thinks that, if he knew, then at least she wouldn't have to pretend anymore.

. . .

Later that day, when her mother tells her and a disgruntled Alec that the family needs to head out for a while, Isabelle's stomach churns. A feeling which intensifies tenfold when Maryse tells her where they are going.

Jace – the lucky bastard – is out when their parents tell them so he doesn't have to tag along. She envies him sometimes.

Isabelle has that horrible feeling again – the unpleasant churning in her stomach she experiences whenever a certain vampire is around – as the _Dumont Hotel_ looms over her, the humid night air caressing her slim form.

"Erm . . . Mom?" she coughs in an attempt to dispel the lump in her throat, "why are we here?"

"Oh, well," her mother charges forward and Isabelle thinks that the _click clack_ of Maryse's obnoxious heels sounds strangely louder than usual. Or perhaps it is just the drumming of her own heart beat.

Her father and Alec are already pacing ahead, the shadows cast in the dim night swallowing their figures whole until Isabelle can no longer see them.

"You remember what I told you about vampires and Shadowhunters disappearing?" Maryse continues. Isabelle just nods, clenching her fists together when she realises that they are shaking, "Well, I need to speak to Raphael about it and he refuses to take my calls. So, going to see him seems to be the only way."

Those last words hit Isabelle like a slap in the face and she thinks back to the night she was attacked: the blood. _It's the only way . . ._

Isabelle asks no more on the matter, choosing instead to hang her hand and carry on trudging down the dark, deserted street.

_There is no point being so nervous_, she tells herself, _you are going to see him whether you want to or not._

She has not seen or heard from Raphael since the night in the park, three weeks ago. The night he had promised to "be there" for her. Isabelle realises now that that was a load of crap. She doesn't mind. She hadn't trusted him in the first place.

The Dumont is a curious place, Isabelle thinks, all high ceilings and stone slabs and oak, double doors, not unlike the Institute. But vampires aren't exactly prided on their house keeping skills and the building is run down – the windows are boarded up, wooden doors worn down by termites and every inch of the stone brick work is covered in a layer of thick, mossy green.

Her father and Alec are standing outside the entrance, their clean clothes looking very out of place.

When Isabelle and her mother finally reach Robert and Alec she puts a smile on her face, wanting desperately for her sombre mood to go unnoticed. Her parents remain oblivious – as per usual – but it is obvious, from the frown creasing his forehead, that Alec knows something is up.

She shakes her head, giving him a pointed look when he stares at her questioningly, and looks away.

When did he become so damn observant anyway?

A loud knock draws her attention then, and Isabelle turns just in time to see her mother knock once again on the oak doors.

They wait close to ten minutes before the doors finally open and Raphael – polite and punctual as always – appears. He stands in the doorway and regards her family with his typically bored expression, but Isabelle notices how it changes slightly when he looks at her, eyes lingering on her form for longer than necessary.

She turns away from his intense stare, and pulls her coat around her tighter, despite the warm night.

"Maryse," he practically sings her mother's name – Isabelle revels in how ridiculous it is that she feels slightly _jealous_ at the fact, "a pleasure, as always," and though she is not looking at him Isabelle can picture him in her mind's eye as he says the words; smooth voice caressing each syllable.

Her eyes flutter closed at the sound.

"Ah, you brought the whole family," it is a wonder that Maryse hasn't interrupted him yet, "the husband," Isabelle's eyes flicker to her father – his expression is stony but he doesn't say a word, "_and_ the offspring."

Isabelle chooses that time to look up and she does so, just in time to see Raphael's brown eyes move from her brother to her. He looks at her so intensely – eyes like melted, pools of milk chocolate – that she almost chokes.

"Isabelle," her name rolls of off his tongue – no change there – and though part of her loves the sound – which is ridiculous. He's an _ass_ – as her whole family turn to her with equally suspicious looks, a part _wishes_ he hadn't.

"Hello," she whispers in acknowledgement, before returning her gaze to the ground.

Her mother clears her throat then, and begins talking, but Isabelle can still feel her brother's eyes burning holes in her skull.

. . .

"Maryse, that is quite possibly the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard."

"Don't be so melodramatic. He needs to be stopped-"

"We're not even sure that he's the killer yet and you want to go in there, guns blazing? I thought you were supposed to be smart . . ."

Isabelle is bored out of her mind; it really is no wonder that now, after two hours discussing the _same damn topic_, she and Alec for that matter, are about ready to fall asleep.

She almost considers sitting down – because a Shadowhunter, as agile as they are, cannot stand for two hours without getting leg cramp – but she takes one look at the dirty ground beneath her feet and decides against it.

They had moved _here_ not long after arriving at the Dumont; a large, open space around the other side of the building, in which Raphael said it would be safe for them to talk.

Without the preying eyes and ears of the other vampires, no doubt.

The rusted, metal walls had at first made Isabelle think that this room was once a garage – the open plan design and faint smell of gasoline supporting her theory – but after noticing the questionable amount of hay lining the asphalt ground she had concluded that it might also have been a barn.

Though, by the Angel, who knows why either one of those would be needed at a hotel.

Truth is, she doesn't care. Her study of the room is just an excuse to keep her eyes and her mind busy. If she keeps her eyes busy she doesn't have to look at Raphael. If she keeps her mind busy she doesn't have to think about him.

Perfect.

And then of course, her mother has to go and foil her plan.

"-I left the files in my car. Robert, come with me?"

Isabelle's head snaps up at that. They're going where?

She does not have time to question it, because so sooner than her mother has said the words, "Alec, Isabelle, stay here," Maryse is out the door, Robert trailing in her wake.

The room falls silent.

Strangely, Isabelle wants to cry with relief because, even with the awkward silence filling the air, and the fact that she can see Raphael looking at her form the corner of her eye, _Alec is here_.

She knew she loved him for a reason.

She turns to her brother at the same time he turns to her, sapphire blue eyes hard – he is still angry with her. He opens his mouth to say something, but then-

_Beep. Beep._

-his phone rings.

For a time, Isabelle holds her breath – praying that whoever is calling is one of the many stuck-up, overbearing people that Alec hates, and that he will not answer – but then he checks the caller ID, mouth stretching into a grin and her heart plummets.

_Of course. Just my luck._

"It's Magnus," Alec states, like that is the answer to everything and, just like that, he is gone.

Moments pass in silence, and Isabelle shuffles her feet, uncomfortable, praying to whatever higher power there is that Raphael will just _ignore her_ because she does not have the energy to deal with him right now.

"You're looking very pretty today, Isabelle."

Isabelle Lightwood is used to receiving compliments. So why does this one bring a blush to her cheeks?

"Um, thank you," she spares him half a glance, before looking down again.

"Oh," Raphael continues, something patronising about his tone that makes Isabelle look up, "Are we back to this?"

"I'm sorry?" she asks, and he gives her a slight smirk, eyes glistening with mirth.

"This, acting shy around me and pretending we don't know each other."

His brutal honesty never fails to stun her.

"I am not . . ." she begins indignantly, before trailing off, ". . . shy."

Raphael's satisfied smirk sparks her annoyance and Isabelle rolls her eyes.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Isabelle turns to him . . . and immediately regrets it. He is looking at her again and in that moment – the dim light in the barn casting shadows on his face, an unnatural glint in his brown eyes – he looks so _not human_ that Isabelle's throat tightens painfully and she has to swallow the feeling down.

She doesn't miss the way Raphael's forehead creases into a slight frown at the action.

Isabelle attempts once again to ignore him but, of course, Raphael is having none of it.

"I do wonder though, why you came."

She regards him with an expression as if to say "what are you, stupid?" but answers him anyway.

"We're on Clave business. My parents forced me here-"

"Oh Isabelle, don't lie to yourself, we both know that no-one could ever force you into anything."

Isabelle feels a swell of pride at that, but it is outweighed by anger at whatever it is Raphael is insinuating.

"Like I said: Clave business-"

"Lies!" Isabelle balls her hands into fist because, so help her, she is going to punch something if he does not stop interrupting her.

"Just admit it, Isabelle."

"Admit what?"

"That when Maryse and Robert asked you to come here, you agreed because you wanted to see me."

Truthfully, when her parents had asked her Isabelle's first thought had been "how do I get out of this?" – but no matter how hard she tries to deny it, she cannot forget the feeling of longing that had come with it.

"No."

She answers too quickly and she can tell from the look on Raphael's face that he does not believe her.

"I thought so . . ."

They linger in silence a while, but then her mother and father return, Alec following soon after, and she has never loved them more.

Maryse waltzes up, extending her to Raphael and he takes the file from her hand carefully, as if he thinks it might be contaminated.

Isabelle rolls her eyes.

"Excellent," he says, before looking at them expectantly, "well . . . you can go now."

Maryse huffs, before heading to the barn door.

And just like that it is over. That wonderful feeling of relief envelops her (but Isabelle can't ignore that lingering feeling of disappointment in her gut).

With one final look at Raphael – he is looking at her calculatingly, but she sends him a half-smile and tries to ignore it – she follows her family out into the night air . . .

"Isabelle," she is almost at the door when he calls her back and she stops dead, turns around, noting with horror when the rest of her family turns around too.

She stares at him questioningly, noting with annoyance that ever-present, amused smirk he seems to have when he looks at her, as if they are in on a secret no-one else knows about. Which, she supposes, they are.

"It was nice to see you again," he says smoothly.

Raphael looks at her strangely – something Isabelle knows from experience is never a good sign – and she raises her eyebrows, a silent warning that he should _shut the hell up_, but it is too late.

Her mother steps forward, her usual stern expression in place, blue eyes switching from Isabelle to Raphael and back.

"Again?"

That one word is enough to make Isabelle cringe and she hangs her head, revelling in Raphael's stupidity.

Maryse is still looking at them expectantly, so Isabelle opens her mouth – a desperate attempt to come up with some lame, generic response to get them out of this – but she is beaten to the punch.

Isabelle expects Raphael to answer with an excuse as well – one profoundly better than anything she could have come up with – sending her mother a sultry smile before waiting for them to leave.

"You mean . . . she didn't tell you?"

And just when Isabelle thinks that Raphael is becoming more predictable to her, he goes and says something like _that_.

His smooth voice makes the words sound so innocent, but Isabelle's stomach drops all the same.

She turns to him, questions forming in her mind.

"Isabelle and I have been seeing . . . a lot of each other lately."

_What the hell is he doing?_ She thinks. Her heart is going a mile a minute, pumping so loudly in her ears that she barely hears her mother's response.

"Oh? And when did this start?"

She can feel Maryse burning holes in her side but Isabelle is too busy looking at Raphael, the mischievous glint in his eyes, and anticipating his next answer.

"When I saved her life."

Isabelle thinks that her mother could react in one of many ways – scream and yell, shake her head in disappointment, whip out her seraph blade and slash them both into a million tiny pieces – but the last thing she expects her to do is laugh.

The sound is quiet, there and gone in one single breath – but it is still there, unexpected and threatening to distort her next words.

"Oh, really?" Maryse says disbelievingly, "And how did you do that?"

Isabelle chances a glance at Raphael – his brow is furrowed, not amused by whatever her mother finds so funny – before looking away again.

She stares firmly at the ground when he answers the question, too shocked to intervene.

His words are light, as if the answer is so obvious he doesn't feel the need to explain.

"I gave her my blood."

Time seems to slow to a halt.

Isabelle wonders if this is all a dream. Hadn't Raphael told her himself not to tell anyone? _I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this. I have a reputation to uphold._ Hadn't they been his words?

She glances over at him, but his gaze still lingers on Maryse, a strange look of triumph in his eyes that makes Isabelle's stomach flip-flop.

A thousand more questions pop into her mind, questions she wants to ask, but she won't because this is not the time or place and her mother is looking at her, shock and a hint of doubt blazing behind her sapphire eyes.

"Isabelle?" she asks, her normally stern voice sounding more shaken and taken aback than Isabelle has ever heard it before.

Isabelle looks behind her, to her father and Alec lingering in the background. If Robert's expression is guarded – arms folded across his chest defensively – then Alec is the complete opposite. He stands, mouth open in disbelief, arms hanging limply by his sides. Isabelle watches as his gaze flickers to the others in the room, trying to make sense of things, and she doesn't miss the strange expression in his wide eyes; as if now that he knows the truth, he wishes he'd never found out.

"Isabelle," Maryse continues, "is this true?"

"Yes," the word comes out a whisper and she can practically _hear_ the collective intake of breath throughout the room.

Perhaps any outsider would think her family was overacting, but Isabelle knows better than that. The Lightwood's are an old fashioned family – one which values Shadowhunter life above all else. So to hear that their own _daughter's_ life has been tainted like this – well, it is no wonder that they are acting this way.

But then the atmosphere changes, her mother's shocked expression giving way to one of blind fury and Isabelle almost flinches away from fear of being burned by the fire in Maryse's eyes.

"Isabelle," this time, her name comes out a terse whisper, "We'll talk about this at home. Go. _Now._"

Her father and brother move immediately until it is just the three of them left, Isabelle trailing in her mother's wake.

At first, Isabelle doesn't look at him, hoping that he will not say anything but then the words leave his mouth – ("See you soon, Isabelle.") echoing through her mind like they are a song – and she turns to him, her initial confusion melting away until she is seeing red.

Isabelle stares him down, a clear, non-verbal sign that she is pissed-the-hell-off, feeling some sort of satisfaction when Raphael doesn't answer with one of his usual smirks.

He looks at her. She looks back.

"Isabelle," Maryse says bitingly, impatience clear in her tone, "_Come on_."

Any other time those words had come out of her mother's mouth, Isabelle would have snapped back with a typically teenage comment – something along the lines of "You can't tell me what to do," or "Ugh! I hate you!" before storming off into the night – now . . . she turns and follows, but she doesn't _say_ anything.

. . .

_See you soon, Isabelle. Very soon._

_End chapter_

. . .

_**A/N:**__ Sooooo, this took a long time. Exams have started and I have loads of work and revising to do. Like now, I should be doing the 23573659363567 thousand word essays I have to do. YEY!_

_How'd you like the chapter? No Raphael's POV, but I just had sooooo much Isabelle to put down I couldn't help myself. Raphael is MEAN, I've decided. Hope y'all weren't expecting this bombshell of his. Poor Izzy . . ._

_Never fear, the I/R love will begin soon._

_So, who's read City of Fallen Angels?_

_Cliffy or what?_

_I LOVED IT! Particularly because I had this horrible feeling that Raphael was going to die, but he didn't so, phew! Camille better watch her back the bitch, 'cause I'll be coming after her if she tries anything._

_Also, I've just finished the first Vampire Academy book. Anyone read them? Here's what I thought of the characters._

_Rose: Bad-ass!_

_Lissa: Interesting . . . really haven't got her character down yet._

_Dimitri: Hot! If slightly boring at times. Though the whole lust spell thing kinda changed my thinking._

_Christian: Hotter! He's my fave character. There's just something I love about his bad-boy, outcast, wounded past storyline. Sigh._

_Natalie: Almost felt sorry for her . . . almost._

_Victor: Creep._

_Ralf: Creep._

_Jesse: Creep._

_Mia: Bitch! In that gotta-love-her-for-it kind of way. I hope Richelle Mead builds on her character._

_Mason: N'awwwww._

_Also, anyone read the Hunger Games? They're not putting Madge in the film? BLASPHEMOUS! So, as a way to show my love, I have begun writing a Gale/Madge fanfic – because it SHOULD have happened. Any shippers?_

_*Gasp* That's it. If you've made it to the end of this A/N then you are a saint._

_**Next Chapter: The aftermath, meaning the angsty-est Alec/Isabelle confrontation yet. And Bitch!Isabelle will be popping by to teach Raphael who's boss. SQUEE! I'm disgustingly excited to write this.**_


	8. All Fall Down

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing._

_**Summary:**__ Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?_

**rustsandchocolates: **Thanks so much :D

**anonymous:** you know where I'm going with this? And I thought I was being so sneaky ;) Thaaaankks.

_**Thanks for all the reviews from last chapter, sorry for the long wait . . . Enjoy the chapter (I hope) . . .**_

. . .

**Haunted**

"_Lost 'til you're found, swim 'til you drown,_

_Love 'til you hate, strong 'til you break,_

_We all fall down . . ."_

- All Fall Down by OneRepublic -

**Chapter 8 | All Fall Down**

"I- I don't . . . I don't understand . . ."

Maryse Lightwood is stuttering.

"I don't understand Isabelle!"

Maryse Lightwood _never _stutters.

The walk home from the Dumont Hotel had passed in silence – Maryse charging ahead, Alec and Robert in between, Isabelle lazily bringing up the rear. Occasionally her brother would glance over his shoulder at her, tossing her a pointed look, but Isabelle had chosen to ignore him, hanging her head and fixing her gaze on her black boots.

When they got home – that was when all hell broke loose.

Maryse had barely made it into her study, the others following in her wake, before she started screaming.

Isabelle tried to explain what had happened the night that Raphael had found her – how he had saved her life – and, for a time, her family had listened. But Maryse never was very good at listening to what she had to say and Isabelle had long ago lost hope of her father ever being on her side.

"How could you do something like this, Isabelle?"

She is sitting alone on the leather couch, twisting her hands anxiously in her lap – her mother paces the room furiously, her father and brother lingering awkwardly by the door – but her mother's words make her sit up straighter, sparking an anger inside her she didn't know she was holding on to.

"Accepting the blood of a vampire . . ." her mother hisses to herself.

"How could I do this?" Isabelle has to yell to be heard over Maryse's muttering, "Sorry to disappoint mum, but I was dying, I didn't exactly have much of a choice!" she ignores the warning look Alec sends her way.

"That's not the point!" Maryse continues her pacing, "The point is that you went behind our backs and continued seeing him."

_Of course. Make this about _you_._

"That wasn't my fault!" ("Nothing ever is.") "Raphael's the one that won't leave me alone. He keeps showing up!"

Not entirely true.

"Then you should have told us. Ugh!" her mother puts her hands on her hips, gripping so tightly her knuckles turn white. Isabelle wonders if it hurts; she has never seen Maryse lose control like this.

"Why? Why did you get involved with Raphael in the first place?"

There is a brief pause.

"So you're saying you'd rather I be dead?"

Perhaps Maryse doesn't mean for her words to sound that way, but that is how Isabelle hears them.

Maryse stops dead, an incredulous look crossing her features.

"What? Th- that is not what I said," she says through gritted teeth, trying (and failing) to keep her voice low.

Isabelle doesn't have the same concern.

She stands up, prepared to storm out of the room, but she is saying her next words before she can stop herself.

"Well that's what it sounded like!" Maryse is still staring at her in disbelief, Alec shuffles uncomfortably by the doorway, but Isabelle doesn't stop.

She takes a deep breath, lowering her voice before continuing.

"I know you think Raphael's dangerous and I know you don't like him – hell, _I_ don't even like him. I won't go near him again, but the fact is _he saved my life_. No matter what he is, _he saved my life_ and for that I'll be eternally grateful . . ." she trails off, thinking that she would _never _say any of this to Raphael himself and with a worry that she's already said too much.

Her last words come out a whisper.

"Not that you seem to care about that."

And with a last look at her mother's stricken face Isabelle makes her escape, brushing Alec off when he reaches out a hand to stop her. She half-walks, half-runs to her room, fighting tears the whole time.

. . .

_Oh Isabelle, you handled that really well._

She is unsurprised to find that the voice in her head is not her own.

. . .

Alec finds her later, though Isabelle is unsure how much time has passed since they came home. All she knows is that it has been a while since she heard the tell-tale _slam_ of the front door, meaning her parents had gone out.

She is in the kitchen when he finds her – unsure about how she got there too – and she just has enough time to subtly wipe the wetness from her cheeks before he sits down beside her.

She doesn't dare to look at him.

"Isabelle," his voice is soft and soothing, though laced with disappointment and Isabelle almost cries again because the sound is way worse to her than if he had just started yelling.

This is exactly what she had wanted to avoid.

"Why Isabelle?" he groans, as if the words cause him pain to say them. He is using her full name – never a good sign.

"Well," she begins, but her voice is so thick she has to swallow back the lump in her throat and try again, "Well, I was close to dead you see, didn't really have much of a say in the matter-"

"No," there is an edge to his voice now, "I mean, why didn't tell me? _Me,_ your brother, why did you lie?"

"Because I knew how you would react!"

Alec lets out a quaky breath, "And how is that? What did you think I'd do, Isabelle? Yell? Never speak to you again?"

"No!" Isabelle bursts, leaning away from him, and she is close to tears again, "I knew that you would react exactly as you are now – with that condescending Big Brother tone of yours and that look of disappointment in your eyes."

"I am disappointed-"

"Exactly! And I hate that. And that's exactly why I didn't tell you," she is yelling again – she has done too much of that today.

There is a frown forming on Alec's features, "This is a little more serious that what I may or may not think of you right now Isabelle-"

"Not to me."

"Ugh, you just don't get it do you?" he says, frustrated.

"Get what?"

And that is when he says the last thing Isabelle had expected.

"What about Max, Izzy?"

She tries to ignore the way her heart clenches at the name.

This is unknown territory. The Lightwoods aren't exactly known for talking about their feelings and they've hardly spoken aloud about Max in the months since he died.

"W- what about Max?" Isabelle manages to choke out.

"For weeks, _months_, after he died you blamed yourself, said you should have been there, protecting him."

Her voice is tight, "What does this have to do with anything?"

"_I_ need to protect _you_!"

One moment Alec has jumped out of his seat, face aflame, voice loud, expressing more emotion than Isabelle has ever seen from him and then his face falls, jaw slackens, a spark of regret shining in his eyes as if he wishes he could take the words back – or at least wishes that he hadn't yelled them.

Isabelle doesn't mind. She is awed, never having seen Alec look or speak about anything so passionately as he is right now – unless Magnus is in the room and then it is for a decidedly _different_ reason.

Alec doesn't look disappointed in her anymore.

Finally, she understands.

For weeks she has been childishly avoiding her brother, dodging his questions, leaving when he entered a room. She couldn't stand the shame of ever telling him about Raphael, but now she gets it – he should have known.

Isabelle wonders how she would feel if the situation were in reverse – if Alec had been fed the blood of a cunning vampire who had then proceeded to stalk him at any given opportunity.

(She tells herself that it does not matter how charming and intriguing said vampire may be – not to mention gorgeous. Raphael is still a sly, conniving asshole and, even if Hell were to freeze over that wouldn't change.)

Isabelle wants to say that she would be understanding. Hurt? Yes. Betrayed? Possibly. But understanding.

She wants to say that she would realise that her brother had lied to her for a reason and accept the fact.

She _wants_ to say that, but she knows it is a lie.

Truthfully, she'd want to find the vampire responsible and kick their ass.

She supposes that her and Alec have similar protective instincts, though he seems to be handling the situation far better than she ever could.

Protective. He has that part right.

Alec takes a deep, calming breath before continuing.

"I need to be able to protect you Isabelle and I can't do that if you lie to me."

"Okay," her voice is a whisper.

"You promise you won't lie anymore?" he steps closer.

"I promise."

"And you won't see him again?"

"I won't."

"Good."

And then he does something that they hardly ever do. He steps forward and envelops her in his arms.

He clean scent is familiar, like peppermint and he has grown since the last time they hugged like this; for a moment Isabelle feels like a child in his arms.

"I just want you to be safe," Alec whispers.

". . . I know."

. . .

She lied.

And for that Isabelle hates herself.

She had told Alec that she would not see Raphael again, and she won't but she has questions. Questions only he can answer.

Or at least that is how she justifies visiting him to herself. Some part of her just wants to see him: one last time.

Isabelle ignores the voice in her head which asks _why_.

It is still dark out and, after parking her car some ways away, Isabelle charges through the deserted streets near the _Dumont Hotel_, determination clear on her face.

Along the way she wonders why there are never any humans around the area, before deciding that that is probably for the best.

The hotel looms over her when she arrives there – looking not half as ominous as it had when she was here mere hours ago.

But it is not the hotel that has changed since then, it is her – now fuelled by anger and a fire in her gut.

A fire Isabelle has every intention of aiming at the vampire who is the cause of that anger.

Isabelle gives the hotel's familiar oak doors a swift _bang_ with her fist, watching as the wood rattles in its frame.

No answer.

Politeness has never been her forte and after Raphael's show of "punctuality" earlier that evening, Isabelle keeps banging until someone answers.

Eventually they do. The girl looks around Isabelle's age – not including vampire years – with dark skin, a sharp contrast to her pencil straight, white-blonde hair. She is tall and unhealthily slim (Isabelle thinks that they are similar in that respect).

The vampire's eyes are so completely devoid of emotion that she appears to be looking _through_ her – Isabelle wonders if she even notices her at all.

"I need to speak to Raphael, now!" she snaps, surprised when the girl appears _unsurprised_ to find a ranting Shadowhunter at her doorstep, mouthing off demands. Her expression doesn't change, but her eyes flick over to Isabelle's face, finally seeing her.

For a time the vampire just looks at her, but then she steps back and, without warning the door is slammed in Isabelle's face. The wood gives a loud groan of protest and Isabelle huffs in annoyance, raising her fist to knock again.

Before she can, the door swings open.

_He_ is standing there, and _he_ is smiling.

"Isabelle? Back so so-?"

"Shut up!"

He appears more shocked than smug at her outburst, a feat Isabelle revels in.

"I need to speak to you, _alone_," she casts a weary glance at the hotel before taking Raphael by the wrist (a little tighter than necessary) and dragging him outside.

Isabelle is not sure what surprises her more – the fact that she is _voluntarily_ touching Raphael or the fact that he is letting her.

Or perhaps how warm his skin is.

She pulls them to a stop outside of the barn they had talked in earlier and faces him, fury blazing in the depths of her brown eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Whatever do you mean, Isa-?"

"You know _exactly_ what I mean," he smirks when she points a finger at him, "Do you make it your personal mission to piss me off?"

"Isabelle-"

"One minute you're telling me not to tell anybody about _us-_" Isabelle flinches, but the last word is already passed her lips, "and then you're telling my _family_ all about it. _What is up with that?"_

Raphael doesn't answer – just looks at her blankly – surprising, considering that he always seems to have something to say.

"Well?" she presses.

"You want the truth?" ("Yes!") "I was bored. Does that answer your question?"

Isabelle doesn't even stop to consider that he is lying. It doesn't answer her question, but it does succeed in pissing her off.

In a move that surprises even herself, Isabelle grabs the front of Raphael's shirt and yanks him towards her, ignoring the voice in her head that warns her how _close_ they are.

"Stay. The hell. Away from me," she bites out through gritted teeth.

Raphael grins down at her, "You know, if you were anyone else I probably would have killed you by now."

She answers with a glare.

"Why are you really here?"

"To put you in your place," she warns but, truthfully, she doesn't have an answer for him.

"_Or_ did you just want to see me?" his tone is smooth and low as his hands come to rest over hers, still clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

Raphael's eyes dart from her face to her mouth and back again and, for a moment, Isabelle thinks that he is going to kiss her; she mentally slaps herself when she thinks that, perhaps, she wouldn't mind so much.

Isabelle jerks away.

"Don't flatter yourself," she says after a pause, "The exact opposite. I came here to make sure that I never have to look at your smug face ever again."

And his face _is_ smug.

"Oh, I'll stay away from you Isabelle, the question is . . . can you stay away from me?"

He looks almost curious, a slight frown creasing his forehead – a frown to match her own.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Raphael breathes a dramatic sigh, "Don't be a fool Isabelle. I'm not the one who came to you today . . . twice. You like seeing me. You seek me out."

"Me?" she asks, incredulously, "What about you? You're the one who followed me around for weeks after the . . . Pandemonium . . . incident," she struggles to find the words, recalling the night they had danced together in that insufferable _mundie _club, but he ignores her anyway.

Raphael takes an intruding step towards her.

"I'm not the one doing the chasing Isabelle," a fire blazes in his eyes as he looks down at her, "not anymore."

And _oh, shit_ because maybe, just maybe he's right.

She thinks back, to all the times they have seen each other in the few months since this all started.

The first time she saw him after he fed her his blood, in Hodge's office at the institute. Maryse had summoned him, that wasn't Isabelle's fault – but it wasn't _his_ fault either.

The first time she'd dreamt of him. That wasn't her blame, it was the blood in her system. Wasn't it?

She'd summoned him after the car incident, and asked him to meet her in the park. _I'd been the instigator in all of that,_ she thinks with horror.

And earlier today, with her parents and Alec – she didn't have to come, she could have refused.

The dreams. The voices. Oh, the voices.

Raphael hadn't known a thing about them until she'd told him and he and Simon had made it clear that the blood should be out of her system by now.

So what if he is right? What if she has just been seeking him out all along.

"Admit it, Isabelle," there is an almost playful edge to his voice, "you _need_ me."

She is speechless.

With no idea of what else to do, Isabelle turns and runs, into the night, back to her car . . . _away from him._

Raphael does not follow.

The whole drive home Isabelle tells herself that he is wrong – she doesn't need him.

It's what she tells herself, but it feels like a lie.

. . .

Raphael smiles to himself when she's gone. He isn't bored – far from it – but he had to get her attention somehow didn't he?

He wants Isabelle Lightwood – all of her – more than he's wanted anything in a long time and now . . . she won't be able to stay away.

_End Chapter._

. . .

_**A/N: **__So, first of all, SORRY! This chapter is ridiculously long overdue but I haven't had time to read, never mind write fanfics lately. I could bore you with excuses but I won't. Thanks for being so patient._

_So, I think there's been enough of creepy, stalker-ish Raphael for one fic, don't you? From now on he should be . . . well, not nicer . . . lighter, yeah . . . lighter . . ._

_How did you like Alec in this chapter? He's one of my favourite characters in the books but I'm not sure I've got him down just yet._

_So I'll cut this short and just say thanks for the reviews, favs and alerts I've been getting – it means a lot._

_I've already started the next chapter so it should (hopefully) be out soon-er. And I might be making a few changes to the first chapters, nothing big, just refining them so that they fit with where I've decided to go with this._

_Thanks again and have a great day :D_


	9. Heart In A Headlock

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing._

_**Summary:**__ Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?_

_**A/N:**__ Please excuse this sorry excuse for a chapter. Sigh . . ._

. . .

**Haunted**

"_You say too late to start_

_Got your heart in a headlock_

_I don't believe any of it . . ."_

- Headlock by Imogen Heap -

**Chapter 9 | Heart in a Headlock**

_December 8__th_

_I need normalcy; hence why I'm writing this stupid letter to myself in the first place._

_Last week Clary came to me and asked if I needed to talk. I said no. After which she proceeded to tell me, in very lengthy detail, that whenever she feels she can't talk to someone about a problem that's bugging her she draws about it and that if I can't draw – runes and stick people don't count – that maybe I could write about it._

_So I am._

_Life lately has been . . . hectic: the term "hectic" here amounting from, hearing voices, pissing off parents and drinking vampire blood._

_But, we won't go into that, because things are about to change._

_From this day forth, there will be absolutely no mention of __vampires__, __vampire blood__ or of anything relating to the unfortunate events that have occurred in the last exhausting 3 months._

_And as for certain nameless people who– well, let's just say that I will grow particularly violent at the mention of a certain __vam__- man with the initials RS and that I hope never to see, talk to, nor hear from him again!_

_Well, that's all for now,_

_Love Isabelle XO_

. . .

_Isabelle is very aware that she is dreaming._

_She is in a ballroom, surrounded by men in tails, women in ball gowns, crystal chandeliers and marble archways. The room is bright – too bright – almost ethereal. She is surrounded by people and under normal circumstances Isabelle would find it funny (considering the attention she usually receives) how no one stops to talk to her – how they seem to look through her, as if she isn't there – but in this moment, for some reason, all she feels is _petrified_._

_She is dancing – no, spinning; twirling round and round, head held high towards the ornate ceiling._

Stop now_, she thinks, because if she doesn't stop soon she is positive that she will lose her balance and fall flat on her face._

_But she cannot stop. She cannot stop spinning, even when her legs grow tired, even when she feels blood pooling in her high heeled shoes, she cannot stop spinning._

_Warm hands grip the tops of her arms and, like someone has flicked a switch, she stops dead._

_Isabelle is not dizzy._

_This is what makes her realise that she is dreaming, the feeling that she is somehow disconnected from her own body; like she is being controlled. (Not the fact that Raphael is standing in front of her, his all red tuxedo – the exact shade of her knee-high dress – perfectly complimenting his dark hair and tan skin.)_

_He takes her hand in one of his own, resting her other on his right shoulder and, using his free hand, he takes her waist, using it to draw her closer to him._

_With one step forward on his part they are moving, roaming gracefully around the room, perfectly in sync (another indicator that this is a dream – though she has no doubt in her mind that Raphael can, Isabelle _cannot _waltz_).

"_I want to stop," the words burst forth from her mouth, because despite their proximity, despite how gorgeous Raphael looks in that tux and despite how Isabelle is sure that none of this is real, she wants to get away from it as fast as possible._

_Her feet hurt; she is so tired._

"_I want to stop," Isabelle repeats when he doesn't answer her. Her words have little effect on him. They keeping moving, keep spinning, keep dancing around each other – just like they always do._

_Finally he answers her "Oh, Isabelle, why would you want to do that?" (or gives her as much of an answer as he ever does)._

_He smirks down at her; Isabelle is certain that he has never looked so _sinister.

"_Please," she struggles, trying to get away from him, but he is too strong, "I need to stop!"_

"_Isabelle!" there is a warning beneath his silken tones now, "We cannot stop," and something in his voice tells her that he is not talking about dancing anymore._

_Raphael stops spinning and takes her arms roughly in his hands, forcing her to look into his dark eyes – fire blazes in their depths._

"_We can't stop. Don't you get that?" his hands move from her arms to her face, roughly caressing the skin of her cheeks – she feels sick with herself when she realises that some part of her likes the action, a feeling only intensified with his next words._

"_You cannot escape me, Isabelle."_

And she wakes with a jolt, shocked to find that there are tears in her eyes. She cannot remember what she was dreaming about.

. . .

No-one speaks when she enters the kitchen that morning – her parents barely notice her and her brothers pretend not to. Isabelle briefly considers clearing her throat before deciding that it is best not to draw attention to herself.

"Coffee, Isabelle?" her mother's voice rings out and Isabelle is momentarily stunned.

For the most part Maryse has been acting as if nothing has changed this past week. She talks to her daughter as little as possible and when talking is unavoidable she treats Isabelle no different than usual.

Rapha- _You-Know-Who_ is taboo in this house – no one mentions him, no one talks about him, no one _thinks_ about him.

(Isabelle has thought about him a lot more than she would care to admit.)

Maryse is looking at her now, eyebrows raised inquiringly and Isabelle decides not to question her new change in attitude, simply answering her with a "yes, thank you". Perhaps they are finally making progress.

When she sits down opposite her brothers Alec throws her an encouraging smile; guilt clenches in her stomach. He is being awfully nice lately and Isabelle still hates herself for lying to him about meeting Raphael for the last time.

_Yeah, and that visit had gone _so_ well._

She tries not to think about that. (Unsuccessfully).

Jace on the other hand has been . . . difficult.

For the most part he acts like nothing is different and if Isabelle didn't know any better she would guess that no-one had bothered to tell him about her and Raphael. But then she'll catch him looking at her warily, as if he is looking at a different person than the one he has known for 8 years. Isabelle hates that.

He is looking at her like that now but when she raises her eyebrows questioningly he looks away without a word.

"So, Isabelle," her father begins, a hesitant smile on his face.

Again, surprising. If Isabelle had thought before the . . . _incident_, that her father barely paid her any mind she was dead wrong. This past week he has been looking through her as if she wasn't there, as if she wasn't his _daughter_. Why the sudden change of heart?

"What are your plans for today?" he continues now as her mother sets a mug of coffee in front of her.

Isabelle's eyes tighten into a slight frown at that. She can't recall a day in her life when her father had asked what her _plans_ were: he usually just lets her do her thing, no questions asked. She briefly considers if she is on some kind of probation – maybe her untrusting parents are about to starting logging what she does every minute of every day or keep her quarantined to the Institute – but then she catches Robert's eyes not-so-subtly flicker over to her mother and she understands.

Isabelle wonders what it is they're planning.

"Hmmmm," she faux considers, "I hadn't thought about it yet."

"Well," Maryse is quick to jump in, "how about shopping? You like that, right?" she sounds almost uncertain.

"I guess, not really in the mood though."

"Jace and Alec are heading out," Robert pipes up, (to visit their better halves Isabelle assumes: Ack!) "You could go with one of them."

"Well-"

"Yeah!" And it is her brother who speaks this time, "Me, you and Magnus, we'll all . . . hang out."

Isabelle quirks an eyebrow at her eldest brother. _So he's in on it too._

"No offence, Alec," she quips, "But I don't really want to _"hang out"_ while you two suck face."

There is a bout of silence while the others in the room digest this: Alec flushes pink, her parents stay silent whilst Jace snickers into his hand.

"Fine, bad idea," she tosses her brother a smile to let him know that she is joking.

"Go with Jace and Clary then?" Maryse presses and Jace is already speaking before she has a chance to decline.

"I'd say "that's a great idea!" but you've already expressed your disliking for sucking face," he addresses her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Isabelle rolls her eyes before speaking.

"Perhaps I'll just go and see Simon."

Again she is met with silence and Isabelle notices from the slight widening of her mother's eyes that she has said something wrong.

Simon, vampire. Vampire, Rapha-

Well . . . you know.

Ever Shadowhunters, everyone in the room notices the lapse of quiet, all eyes turning towards Maryse to inspect her reaction.

"Well . . ." she begins hesitantly, "that's . . . okay too."

_Huh._

Isabelle isn't sure what it was she had expected her mother to say. Anything but _that._

"Wow," she says flippantly, "whatever it is you plan on doing when I'm out must be pretty damn important."

And with her parents shocked looks trailing her wake, Isabelle takes her coffee and leaves the room.

. . .

"So, you're not seeing him anymore?"

"No," she answers simply.

They are sitting in Simon's living room, a mug of very fowl tasting tea warming up Isabelle's cold hands.

"Well," Simon begins after a pause, "thank G- you know what I mean. Seriously, I was worried for you there, thought _Crazy Raphael_ was getting to you."

Isabelle takes that last part in with a sour expression. _He still is._

Simon stops dead at the look on her face. _Shocking_; He isn't exactly known for being observant.

"Erm, the look on your face is kind of disconcerting. I take it you don't agree then?"

"No!" she is quick to protest, "I mean, yes, I do agree. Raphael is crazy and sadistic," _and gorgeous_, "but he did save my life. I feel . . . indebted to him," _and I hate that._

Simon ponders this, "He did turn me into a vampire. I'd say I know what you mean but . . . I really don't!"

Isabelle tuts, "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Of course I do. Handsome, if slightly stalker-ish, Spaniard saves your life. That must be pretty hard for a girl to forget," he says, looking at her pointedly.

And despite the thousand other factors in this, he's not far off.

"But listen," Simon leans forward in the chair opposite her, catching Isabelle's eye, "I know that one of your favourite past times is dating Downworlders to piss off your parents," _Insert scoff here,_ "but Raphael goes a wee bit beyond that-"

"Oh My God!" she snaps, "What is wrong with everyone? I have absolutely _no_ intention of dating him!"

"Okay, but all I'm saying is-"

"Simon!" he stops talking at her exclaim and Isabelle breathes a tortured sigh before continuing, in a small voice, "Can we just . . . talk about something else?"

"Sure," he says, leaning back in his chair. Simon purses his lips thoughtfully and after a pause, "Wanna prank call Jace pretending to be the _Naughty Nymphos_ hotline?" he asks, bright eyed.

Isabelle thinks that she could say many things to that – _"Not particularly", "How do you even know what that is?"_ – but all she settles on is, "You read my mind."

. . .

When Isabelle returns home hours later something is different. And it's not just the sleek, official looking black car parked outside of the Institute; she can sense it, a feeling churning deep in her stomach. She doesn't like that feeling very much.

It doesn't take long to locate the rest of her family once she is out of the elevator in the Institute; she can hear her mother's sharp tones loud and clear coming from her office down the hall. Isabelle follows the sound.

The oak door gives a _creak_ of protest when she pushes it open, but no-one turns in her direction.

Maryse stands by her desk, expression stern, caught in deep conversation with the two strangers sitting in front of her.

The first, the younger of the two, is talking at her mother. Isabelle need only take one look at his sharp, tailored grey suit to know who the fancy car outside belongs to. He looks to be about the same age as Robert – younger than his quicksilver hair suggests – with a taut jaw and a tight lipped mouth. Isabelle thinks that he might have been handsome once, but something about his dark eyes unsettles her.

The second is also a man – mid-seventies at a guess – with thinning, white hair and blank, ageless eyes. Isabelle's eyes curiously follow the hood of his red cloak down to where it disappears under her mother's desk.

Her father and Alec stand off to the side, sporting their usual stance of crossed arms and concentrated facial expressions as they watch the trio.

Isabelle takes a further step into the room and, like hawks stalking their prey, the strangers turn to study her.

After a glance in her direction the older guy looks away, but the other continues to stare at her, his beady, black eyes wondering a little south of her face. _Pervert_.

"What's going on?" she asks in a monotone.

"Isabelle," Maryse acknowledges her daughter with a small smile. Her father and Alec remain silent, but she thinks she sees a flash of guilt in her brothers blue eyes.

_Huh._

"You remember Martin Verlac?" Maryse is saying, her tone unusually friendly. _Verlac? Like I'll be forgetting that name anytime soon, _"Co-Head of the Clave stationed in New York," she gestures to the younger man, the one nearest her (the sleaze). He spares Isabelle a brief nod before his gaze returns to her chest.

"And Brother César," she looks to the older man, but still he doesn't say a word.

_Brother. That explains it._ Isabelle never had inquired about what had happened to the Silent Brothers after they had all been killed – she'd assumed that they'd just . . . well, gotten new ones.

Brother César gives her a silent nod as Isabelle studies him. She's always known that the Silent Brothers were Shadowhunters once, but she's never seen one like this – before they've had their runes.

She doesn't remember them – either of them. In fact she'd pretty positive that she's never seen them before in her life, but Isabelle nods anyway.

"What are they doing here?" she asks Maryse, not caring if she sounds rude.

Maryse doesn't seem to notice.

"I was . . . consulting them, on an . . . important matter," the two men nod their agreement.

"What kind of matter?"

"Well, if Martin and Brother César agree, I can tell you," her mother looks to the two strangers inquiringly.

"Certainly," Martin Verlac speaks for the first time, tearing his eyes away from Isabelle long enough to answer Maryse in a soft, British accent.

Brother César merely nods.

"Excellent," her mother announces, though looking considerably less excited than the word suggests, "that's settled."

"So, what is it?" Isabelle asks after a pause, when Maryse gives no indication that she is going to tell her.

Maryse frowns at her daughter, but answers her anyway.

"We've decided to give you one of mine and your father's cases."

Isabelle wonders if she heard her correctly.

"What? Seriously?" she asks excitedly, "Like, to investigate by myself? On my own?"

"Yes," is all Maryse says, and Isabelle smiles brightly.

"Which one?" she questions eagerly and her mother sighs, the first indicator that something isn't quite right.

"I believe it concerns a missing Shadowhunter and-" it is Martin Verlac who speaks, his quiet voice a monotone at first, "and _vampire,_" but disgust shadows his tone on the last word.

Isabelle's brow furrows as something clicks into place and she turns to her mother.

"Wait, is- isn't that the case you're working on with . . ." she trails off, because Maryse is already nodding, her expression grave.

"Yes," she says, "_Raphael_ . . ."

_End Chapter._

. . .

_**A/N: **__Yeahhh . . . sometimes I have no idea where the fuck I'm going with this. Ahem . . . excuse me . . ._

_So, I'm making some (minor) adjustments to the first chapters. Nothing major, no need to read them again, it's just that I'm 1000 words into the next chapter and Raphael's a lot __**lighter**__ than he usually is. Still a crazy sadist, but a happier crazy sadist. Ya get me? ;)_

_Also, please excuse Martin Verlac (I don't even know if it's possible for him to be a Verlac) for being such a pervert. I don't think all British men are perverts, ha-ha – although I am British myself and I've known a few of them in my time – but he just opened his mouth and it came out British. It's also very doubtful that he'll be in this fic again. Ahem, shame . . ._

_I've been reading __**a lot**__ lately and I've found some truly fantastic books. Here are some that I'd recommend._

_Delirium, by Lauren Oliver._

_Bloodlines, by Richelle Mead._

_Divergent, by Veronica Roth (EPIC)._

_And both Hex Hall books, by Rachel Hawkins._

_If you haven't read them, do so, IMMEDIATELY!_

_Hope you enjoyed ;) and revieeeww . . ._


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